Two Dead Swans - A Creepypasta Reader Insert - milkyCarnations - Creepypasta (2024)

Chapter 1: Drowned Men and Donuts

Chapter Text

Flashes of blue and red lit up the dark street in front of you. Looking out of your car, you glanced around the dew-covered lawn. Strands of classic yellow police tape lined the perimeter of the old suburban home, separating it from the rest of the world.

Before arriving, you were given some brief background over a phone call. The family were good people; loving parents and two children. Neighbors said they attended church on most Sundays. They were philanthropists and quite active in the PTO. Records showed they were criminally clean, too: no police reports existed to show complaints or domestic disputes. Everything in their lives appears quiet until tonight.

A thin manila folder laid on your dashboard, only containing a few sheets of information. You didn't have much time before leaving - just a few minutes to print some things out and look over the files that were sent to you. According to what you had, there was one lone survivor of the break-in. An eight-year-old girl. Undoubtedly, her childhood had been forever changed and forever gone. That's what always happened. It was inevitable.

You had first started crime scene investigation a couple of years ago. While it was nothing in the eyes of experienced detectives, it had been plenty of time for you to get the gist of things. It took hard work, hours of schooling, and practice. Frankly, you could hardly imagine doing anything else. Nothing else could fulfil you. The truth was, solving murders had become your passion. There had been nothing more satisfying than faces of pure relief; faces of peace. The raw emotion once a criminal had been caught and charged for their crimes. It was the moment that a parent knew they could breathe free again. It was the day a lover could finally find closure and answers. Most of all, it was justice. All of those made your hard work worth it. Every second you spent was never wasted.

Although, that's exactly what made days like today so devastating. Such a terrible case to find on your roster. Everyone had cases that hurt them somewhere deep. To you, knowing that there were little to no survivors made things so much harder. You knew that you would not be rewarded with a family that felt a little bit safer. You would not be given that eerie, yet bittersweet feeling of consolation. Instead you were responsible for damn-near revenge when all other sources of hope were exhausted. Too soon, the tides seemed to shift and you had become the saving grace. An eight-year-old could not fight to avenge their lost loved ones.

You knew before you even arrived at the scene that it would be a memorable case, maybe even something that would haunt you. How could it not? It was as if you were there - sitting across from her in a cold interrogation room. The thought of her horror-stricken face made you feel sick. What remained of her innocence had been erased: her voice would be shaky and timid, not fully understanding the gravity of the situation. Everything she once had was gone.

Tossing your keys in your glove box, you tried to dust off the thoughts roaming around your mind. It was easier said than done, but you had no choice. Stepping out of your car, a burst of early winter air hit your skin. Thankfully, you wouldn't be here for too long.

Among the flashes of police cars were cameras, news reporters, and curious neighbors. Publicity. It made your nose turn. Granted, the news was important, but couldn't it wait? These publicists would crawl these crime scenes, waiting for hours just for some lousy b-roll footage. How sad. You pushed past the white lights and ignored a few questions thrown your way. You didn't have time for any of that.

Ducking under police tape, you set foot on the sidewalk.

"Hey!"

Your coworker Kari ran up to you, fancy camera slung across her chest. You looked to her car where she abandoned a box of gloves and shoe covers on the hood.

"Were you waiting on me?" you asked.

"Yeah. I'm glad you're here. I was worried you would be late. We need as many hands as we can get for this one." she whispered to you with a slight Korean accent.

Kari had been on the job a little longer than you. In the time since, you'd gained nothing but respect and inspiration from her. Since your first day, she's shown absolute dedication to her work and had a passion that further kindled yours. The two of you headed to her car.

"Anything you can fill me in on? I don't know much yet, only the basics." you told her.

"Pretty bad home invasion. Three of four suspects dead. The little girl is already at the station. This one's pretty gruesome."

As she spoke, you geared yourself up, grabbing a pair of gloves and shoe covers.

"How bad? Do we have any idea who our main suspects are yet?"

She shook her head.

"I'm not too sure when we will. We're trying to get in contact with any close relatives right now. You know - for the kid more than anything. Heard they were trying to see if she could get put in with some cousins so she doesn't have to go to CPS. That's what I heard from John's end at least, but we haven't spoken in a while. Either no one's answering this time of night or no one cares."

"Work?"

"Both are criminal defense attorneys. Currently, that's our best lead. Offices aren't open yet so someone will swing around in the morning. Wouldn't be surprised though,"

"What?"

"Not surprised some pissed off asshole who lost a case would try and get some revenge? I mean. That's what I'm guessing. But I wouldn't stick to that though. Could be anything, really."

"That's fair," you nodded. It certainly was possible.

Together, you and Kari walked up to the front door. Upon entering the house, you realized everything had been far worse than you anticipated.

"f*ck," you muttered. The struggle between the residents and the intruders caused the living room couch to be pushed out of place. Splatters of blood were flung across the floor and walls. As you walked through, Kari continued.

Here's the game plan. Most of the downstairs is set. We just need some extra hands on the second story. Like always, if you think something needs eyes just run it by me, okay? I don't want you overlooking any evidence."

Glass shards crunched beneath your feet as the two of you stepped into the kitchen. The sliding door had been smashed open. Surrounding the area were a few other recognizable faces, some of which selecting pieces of glass to collect for later examination. Anything that looked smudged by fingerprints or blood splatters were taken and placed in plastic baggies. Chances were results would trace back to the deceased, but might as well run some tests to check. Better safe than sorry.

She turned to you, "okay. Now that you're caught up to speed," she led you up the staircase and showed you two of the bedrooms.

"John's crew searched these earlier. No obvious signs of struggle or presence. This one, however," she pushed open a white door decorated with butterfly stickers. Written in bold green print was the name "SOPHIA". The door gave a hefty creak in protest.

The smell of blood kicked you in the face. Blood. It was the only thing you could see and smell. The red liquid soaked the carpet that sat in the center of the room and pooled on the hardwood floor underneath it.Dear f*cking god.

There were no bodies. All had been removed from the scene before you had arrived. After pictures had been taken, they were immediately sent for autopsy. At least, they sent what was left of them.

"You didn't see anything yet, yeah? Too soon to send you pictures in the files," Kari told you, "It looked like... a factory accident. I don't know how else to put it. Pulp, yeah? Like orange juice?"

The mental image was enough. It was sickening. They were mauled and disfigured. That's what this was.

"Is this really where it all happened?" you could barely finish the words. Kari held a frown on her face as you glanced her way. She gave you a gentle nod.

"The girl's room. We're still trying to piece together everything. She's a valuable witness, but I wish she didn't shave to see anything. John took her to get cleaned up before anything else. Said it looked like she saw a ghost. She saw most of it. Unfortunately."

You let your eyes scan over the room once again. Granted, you'd seen some terribly awful sh*t before, but the circ*mstances here were heart-wrenching.

For the next several hours, you worked with Kari and the crew to finish the foundations for the investigation. The family home had no cameras. Each room seemed rather well covered. Though you could never 100% tell if a hair was useful or not, the entire place seemed rather barren. At most, you only had the glass from the broken door to look over. Everything was so scattered across the home it was hard to even get a generalization of what must've gone down.

"Gotta be a group of people, right?" you asked.

"I'd guess so. To make such a mess."

Whoever these people were, they were certainly meticulous. Almost strangely meticulous.

Before transferring responsibility to your boss, you went out of your way to take a second quick look around. You found yourself magnetically attracted to the little girl's bedroom. You were so intrigued. By now, the pool of blood had started to coagulate, drying into the floorboards. Poor thing. There was no way she wouldn't be terrified for the rest of her life. How could she ever want to be in this room again?

White shelved lined the room. Each one displayed family photos, various toys, and carefully propped up stuffed animals. You stepped further in, closing in on her bedside table. Your hand had a mind of it's own and grabbed a framed photo. It was the family before everything happened, sitting together with wide, bright smiles. They looked genuinely happy. This was no posed Christmas card - it was warmth.

For a moment, your heart throbbed. You wanted to put the picture down and leave it where you found it. You also wanted to take it with you. With a hint of adrenaline, you took the small photo out of the frame and slipped it into your pocket. Without hesitation, you turned and left the room. You met Kari in the hall.

"All set?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Stairs creaked beneath you as you walked down them.

"Street's been cleared out so no worries on getting out tonight! You can head out now if you want. I don't need much help wrapping things up, most of it has been finished," she gave a worried glance in you direction, "I know today has been tough. Take it easy, okay? Worrying won't make tomorrow any easier."

"I know,"

Together, you left the front door amidst the bustle of cleaning crews and specialists alike. Someone must have scheduled for clean up. Outside, you were relieved to see only a few detectives left. The neighbors had grown uninterested, leaving to the comfort of their homes. Journalists now kept to themselves, one or two choosing to stay behind. It seemed everyone was worrying about themselves now that the buzz of hot news had died down. Checking your phone only confirmed it. It was 2 A.M. and way too damn late to give a damn.

After sharing a short goodbye with Kari, you took the short walk back to your car and got yourself settled in the passenger seat. You found your keys and case file exactly where you left them. You were ready to get back home and finally slip under the covers. Moreso, you wanted to shed your uniform and be free from today's work. You sighed, readjusting you mirror. As you prepare to leave, you see something shuffle in the backseat. You freeze, heart thumping in your ears. You seesomeonein the backseat.

Heart dropping into your stomach, your mind grew hazy. You stared down the figure from your rear-view mirror. It was a grotesque image that you could barely consider a human being. Its body was charred black and sloughed off like corn syrup mixed with mud. Slurry dripped down to stain the leather seats and seeped into the carpet beneath him. Suddenly, the whole car filled with the stench of dirty lake water; reeking of the sickly-sweetness.

From the dim light of the nearby streetlights, you scanned for its eyes. There were no visible pupils or sclera. Rather, a thin film of skin had formed over them as if their eyes were diseased. The figure slumped over. Between your shaky breaths, you could hear his soft guppy breathing accompanying the chirps of crickets outside.

What the f*ck?

You pulled your phone from your pocket, moving calculated - scared you would disturb them. You needed an ambulance. Fast - but you weren't sure what they could do to help. Whoever was sitting behind you looked like they'd drowned two times over. There was no way they weren't already a corpse. It was a miracle they were even breathing. Trying to call 911 as quickly as you could was futile as the sound of gunshots followed by sirens interrupted you. You whipped your head around to watch as flashing lights flew past your car. It was then that you noticed that whoever sat behind you had disappeared. However, the wet stains were still imprinted in your car. Looking all over, you checked your side mirrors. You never so much as felt the breeze of the car door opening. There was no way they could leave so quickly without being seen. It wasn't possible. Maybe you had a fever, but the putrid smell of water and death emanated from the back seat. It had to be real, but it made no sense.

With trembling hands, you turned your car on and pulled out from the side of the road. Though it was freezing outside, you rolled down your windows regardless. It had become difficult to breathe in such a small space. Doing your best to ignore it, you drove home.

Exhausted didn't begin to cover it. You woke up the Sunday morning and 9 AM with a headache. Remembering everything with crystal clarity didn't help. Everything was clouding your mind: the man in your backseat, the drive home, Sophia. You remembered it all. All of her loss made your heart ache.

You still held onto the small photo that you had slipped into your pocket late last night. Now it sat in your work bag. It was in good condition and free of blood. It felt odd and creepy to be holding onto it, but you had intended to give it to Sophia as soon as you could. That's why you grabbed it in the first place, right?

You checked your phone. You distinctly remembered making a quick "unofficial" official report before bed last night. Though you weren't sure what had gone on in your car, you were insistent that it was real. You tried not to leave out any details, but it was difficult to describe the situation without sounding like a maniac. Now, the thought of the report made you cringe. Reporting that a man drenched in water was hiding in your vehicle was one thing - the eyes and the smell of a rotting corpse were completely different.

Ignoring your car, you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone. Though the team collected tons of evidence last night, the circ*mstance of the murders was not something to be underestimated. With something this big, you'd be called into the office for sure. The public will want this sorted out as soon as humanly possible. High priority status. Everything else is gonna get put on the back burner.

Opening your messaging app, you read through your unread messages with John.

JOHN:new updates on the case, come in soon as you can tomorrow morning. we need to talk sent 3:26 am

JOHN:heard about your report. everything okay? department thinks you're crazy sent 7:00 am

Of course they do, you thought to yourself.

JOHN:no missing reports in the area have been filed. we're still looking into it though sent 7:01 am

While you were relieved to hear that there were already updates for the homicide case, you were deathly embarrassed over your report. You had to have imagined everything. You don't respond.

Before leaving the apartment, you brew yourself a cup of coffee to bring along and get dressed for work. Slipping your bag onto your shoulder, you made sure that the photo had been tucked inside. Once outside, you're relieved to feel the sun giving off the tiniest sliver of warmth. It'd be the last before winter.

In front of your car, your own thousand-yard stared glared back at you through your windshield. Opening the backseat only made you more confused. The stains were still there clear as day, and though the smell disappeared, a hint of it was still lingering. How could you argue with the evidence staring in front of you? Slamming the door, you trekked back to your porch. Until your disgusting state of a vehicle is cleaned you will not be driving it. Rideshare it is. Shooting John a text, you let him know you'd be a little late today, purposely avoiding the topic of your report. Launching the rideshare app on your phone reminded you of your stressful college years. It reminded you of being carpooled with party-goers and disrespectful frat boys alike. You had never hit it off with that social group - you had preferred to spend your senior year graduating instead of failing. It was worth it.

It took half an hour to arrive at the office. John met you in the front, watching from afar as you thanked your driver. The entrance of the building was very commercial and filled with high ceilings and tall glass windows. At least the natural light was a welcome break from LEDs. The thudding of shoes and high-heel pattering on the linoleum echoed throughout the room. Safety brochures decorated the front desk. It was hard to make people feel welcomed when most only entered the building after a tragedy.

"Hey! Morning," John greeted you with a handshake. It was an unnecessary formality, but it ended quickly. John was a tall and wise southern man, much older than you and Kari. He'd been working here for many years now and brought decades of experience from the last city he served. He had quickly proved himself to be the most experienced member in your local branch.

"A lot on our schedule today. Get some breakfast. I know you haven't had any, yet. We need everyone workin' at their best."

You responded with a smile and a nod. To John's right, you notice a small girl, her blonde hair messy and clothes slightly ill-fitting. This must be Sophia.

"Oh hello! What's your name?" you kneeled down to reach her height and took her hand as you introduced yourself.

She didn't respond. She seemed almost skittish, very clearly shy, but also likely shocked and confused from the last twenty-four hours. You kept talking.

"Are you Miss Sophia?" she nodded meekly.

"Has my friend John taken good care of you? He's very nice isn't he?" she nodded again, this time a little more eager and accompanied by a small giggle. Out of the corner of your eyes, a nearby coworker gave you a look painted with pity.

"You like donuts Sophia?"

"Yes," her voice was as tiny as a mouse.

"Well, I heard that there are donuts in the cafeteria today. Why don't you and my friend Marissa over here go and get some, okay?" you gestured over to the front desk secretary. Marissa greeted her with open arms and held her hand as she led her to the back. The cafeteria served donuts every day among a myriad of other things, but you imagine donuts would be most exciting for a young child. You turned back to John, who looked stressed beyond his years.

"Wanna fill me in on what I missed."

"Follow me to the back," the two of you walked past doors, desks, and cubicles until you reached his. He sat down and handed over more files for you to look at, "definitely premeditated. As you've probably guessed. Seems to be a professional"

You flipped through the files, "what do you mean professional?" you asked, furrowing your brows.

"Rapid DNA analysis shows nothin'. Everythin' collected just traces back to the family DNA."

You perked up. "Think it's family then?"

"Not completely out of the question I guess, but I don't think so. Nothin' points to a murder-suicide. And as I said, we haven't found any immediate family. Working on getting alibies."

"That's crazy. Nothing? We collected so much."

"Not a single drop of blood didn't go straight back to three."

You frowned.

"All of this is highly premeditated," he continued, "at least that's my runnin' theory. The Bellhouse's practically have a red target over their backs. Joseph and Sadie were both lawyers. That's already enough. But rumor has it Joseph had a pretty sketchy business with his father, Saul Bellhouse. And guess what?"

You hummed. He tossed a news article onto the desk.

"Arrested for money laundering. Rather recently. An anonymous tipper brought it to our attention too. We hope to question him soon." John took a sip from his coffee as you looked through the article.A felony offense in money laundering. Sentenced to 4 years in prison.They went easy on him.

"And this the only family memberthat you could get in contact with?" you questioned him.

"Yes. We couldn't find anyone else. No other grandparents, no cousins, no aunts, and uncles. It's like only they exist."

A sour feeling festered in your stomach. If Sophia's only other living relative is in prison, who was going to take care of her? John could only hold onto her for so long.

"When do you think CPS will get involved."

"Sometime soon. I'm doing the best I can. Might try and make an appeal so she doesn't have to go into foster care. Might be good for her, but the chance of getting a good foster family is rare. Not many of them are suited to such... fragile circ*mstances."

You hoped he would make an appeal. It would be best to get her in with at least a family friend. Maybe it'd be just enough time to stall?

"Are these the autopsy reports?" you asked him. John gave you a glare that told you everything.

Reading through, the report went into depth on how their bodies were mauled. They really were speed-running the case. All three autopsies had been completed, but you were still waiting on toxicology reports. After seeing the state of the house, you weren't too shocked, but you hadn't seen what the corpses looked like on the scene. Each cause of death differed: blunt force trauma, exsanguination from multiple wounds, and brain hypoxia due to suffocation, respectively. You gave the file back.

"Okay, what's the plan so far?"

John took a deep breath,"We have a few options that we are considering. Not much evidence from our tests so far, but I think a good start is questioning Mr. Bellhouse. We go from there. Hell, if he is in on it, we can negotiate with his sentencing for a guilty plea."

"Sounds good enough. Where do you want me to start."

"We need someone to watch over Sophia as we wait for social workers. I think they're already planning out housing for her. I'll get in contact to see if I can schedule an appeal with the worker assigned to her case. I'll also work on getting in contact with Mr. Bellhouse."

"Right, I'll see you later. Good luck."

Your thoughts were jumbled as you searched for Sophia, but you tried your best to clear it from your mind. If the murderers did have some sort of vengeance deal with Sophia's grandfather, it's likely that the two of them were in danger. While you imagined she was purposely spared, it's possible they were still looking for her. We could not let something like that happen. You turned the corner to the small cafeteria. It was more of a kitchenette with round tables, but everyone called it the cafeteria. You recognized her sitting by herself, with a cup of juice and a sizeable pink donut. You pulled out a chair and sat beside her.

Sophia looked up at you, curious. "Who are you?"

"I'm a detective," you responded, telling her your name.

"Are you gonna find the men who killed my family?" She asked. Your heart throbbed, but you nodded, trying not to seem too sad. Though she was young, she knew what was going on. However, she was still processing.

"We're gonna do our very best."

Sophia shuffled slightly before taking another bite from her donut.

"You said they were men? Did you see them? Is there anything else you can remember about them? Like what they look like, or how tall they were?" You weren't in an interrogation room, but you couldn't resist asking her. She thought for a moment before frowning.

"They were wearing masks. I don't know what they look like. They were super tall though. Like," she lifted her arm into the air and stretched up, trying to gauge their height. She gave up with a soft grunt, "super tall. But the third one was smaller," her hand swooped down.

The gesture makes you smile slightly. She was a cute kid. Suddenly, you recalled the photo in your bag.

"Sophia I have something for you actually!" you rummaged around until you found it. You pulled it out and handed it to her.

"I thought you might want to have it with you," She hastily sat her donut down on her plate and stopped herself before grabbing the picture.

"I should wash my hands first," Sophia muttered.

"That's alright! I'll set it here for now," you placed it down on the table, "let's finish breakfast first."

Sophia leaned forward in her seat and gave you a tight hug. Though surprised, you made sure to hug her back. With her head pressed into your side, you heard a muffled 'thank you'.

You let her resume eating, choosing not to talk much unless Sophia initiated. Later, you'd probably bring her into a soft interrogation room. They'd have stuffed animals and a couch for her to sit on. It didn't take very long for her to finish her food and chug the last of her drink. You stood together and showed her to the trash can. Afterward, she washed her hands and face, cleaning off the stickiness. Handing her the photo, she opts to hold it by her side, rather than looking at it.

While walking to a soft interrogation room, you run into John.

"There you are. A social worker is here to talk with Sophia. They got back to us quicker than we expected." you're struck with disappointment. At least the social worker would be more suited to hanging out with a kid than you, but you'd hoped John would be able to work something out before then.

"You're good to go. Right now is a waiting game," he whispered. Thanking him, you said goodbye to him and Sophia.

"My parents call me Sophie," she blurted out, "you all can call me that too. If you want."

John led her up to her social worker - a kind-looking older woman. You headed out to leave.

It was still early in the day and you had expected to do much more at the offices. John informed you that from now on this would be your primary case. You headed straight home. You wondered if the slaughtering of the Bellhouse's had something to do with teaching Saul a lesson. Saul was laundering money, so it didn't seem too out of the way to assume he was messing with someone else's. All he would have to do is be caught by the wrong person. Sophie had said that there were three different men involved. Maybe Saul had been into something darker? Gangs? Drugs? It wasn't out of the question.

If what John was insinuating was true - if there really was a professional criminal after the Bellhouse name - why did they kill the entire family except for one kid? It couldn't have been morality. She was a child, but her brother wasn't that much older than her.

Feeling awful, you pushed your apartment door open. You would've loved to have a house by now, but living in the inner city left little choice. Plus, it was far more affordable than a mortgage. Soon enough, you'd have one.

With little to do, you take liberties into your own hands and try to do research. You googled the Bellhouse business, looking at their advertisem*nts. Make the wrong mistakes and you piss off the wrong people. You looked at reviews for the law firm they worked for. Nothing seemed sketchy. Their reviews passed with flying colors. Barely any complaints were made against them.

You hoped more than anything that Saul wasn't an uncooperative asshole. The case relied on him giving up as much information as he could.

Closing your laptop with a slam, you sighed. Three different causes of death, one for each person. That could explain how Sophia got away. Maybe she slipped out while they were busy with someone else? You lay back on your couch and let yourself sink into the cushions. Your eyes closed softly. You didn't get very good sleep last night, especially since you came home so late. As you began to doze off, you were interrupted by the harsh buzz of your doorbell. Ugh.

Pushing yourself up, you started to the door and looked through the peephole. You didn't recognize him. Twisting the door handle, you opened up to a tall brown-haired man. He looked as tired as you, yet had kind eyes marked with subtle crows feet. He had to be somewhere in his 30s and his gaze stared straight into your soul. His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke.

"Can I use your phone?"

Chapter 2: Drunk Calls

Chapter Text

"Can I use your phone?"

His voice had a hint of a rasp; the sign of a smoker. "I need to call my ride," he continued, "he was supposed to show up thirty minutes ago but he hasn't shown up. And of course, my phone died." he pulled out an old model flip phone and gestured towards it. Your mouth hung open for a second as you searched for the right words to say.

"Yeah... Yeah, why not?" you shuffled for your phone and passed it over to him.

"Thanks. Much appreciated."

It took him a few moments to call his friend. He off-handedly mentioned something about trying to remember the exact phone number. You sat there awkwardly, watching as he dialed. Once he put the phone to his ear, it rang twice before his friend answered. You tried to mind your own business, but he seemed really pissed, asking his friend where he had been and demanding that he hurried. After the phone call, he immediately handed your cell back to you.

"Sorry about that. I really appreciate it. No one else would help me out actually. Guess in hindsight not a lot of people want to answer the door for a stranger anymore."

"Don't worry about it. It's not that big of a deal." you looked at the heavy grey rain clouds behind him, "uh. Looks like it's gonna rain. Do you wanna wait inside? It's gonna get even colder out there." he nodded enthusiastically.

"If it's not too much of a bother. My name is Tim," he introduced himself as you stepped aside to let him in. Smiling, you greeted him back.

You sat him down in your living room. Walking over to the kitchen, you offered him a glass of water. Grateful for your offer, you poured him a glass with ice. He accepted it eagerly. Absorbing the image in front of you, you realized how unbelievably stupid you were. He was a tall man, nearing six foot tall - but not quite. What really took the cake was his sheer size. His tan jacket and baggy jeans left his figure undefined, but he was still noticeably beefy. Bruised and crooked knuckles gripped around the cup, including numerous cuts and scrapes. It piqued your interest, but you chose not to say anything.

You chatted with him for a few minutes - mostly about the local area and other small talk. It didn't take long to hear a car vigorously honking from the street.

"Guess that'll be me," he said, pointing towards the door.

"Oh, okay!

You lead him out the door. As you stood in the doorway, you gave him a simple wave and he shuffled down your front porch steps. His friend's car was a beater and not much to look at, but you couldn't catch a glimpse of his face. It was obscured by their bright yellow hood. Closing the door, you trekked back to your couch and sat down. Even though you lived in the city, it wasn't often that you met new people. You weren't exactly going to the book fair in between shifts. In fact, it was the biggest struggle you had when you moved to the city.

You thought about it. Maybe you should get out more and be less of a shut-in. Even just for yourself. You barely did anything of the sort. When did you last have a conversation outside of your own coworkers? Grabbing your keys, you stepped outside. Your sweatshirt barely managed to fight off the winter chill. Keys jangling, you hurried to your car. You drew in a heavy breath, but couldn't catch the smell from before. It felt unreal that such a repulsive stench would disappear. Perhaps John was right, maybe you were hallucinating things? It didn't feel like your cases were getting to you, but maybe you were wrong.

You sat down and started the engine, pulling off from the side of the road and driving toward the local lake. It was about an hour-long drive, but it would be worth it. With autumn coming to a close, the wooded area surrounding it was bound to be gorgeous.

For the majority of the drive, you fell into your own headspace, listening to music and enjoying as much of the drive as you could. It was peaceful and you couldn't help but hum along to the tune of the radio. As you drove further and further away from the city, crowded tenements regressed into suburbs. Suburbs regressed into sub-rural housing until tree and brush encapsulated you.

The lake was decently sized but small enough to maybe recognize someone standing on the other side. The water was a muddy mixture of greens and brown and its gentle waves rolled along the shoreline. Due to the sun shining high above you, the water's peaks glistened with blinding white light. In the summer, the destination was a hot spot for bikinied crowds; riding their boats and partying in the seclusion of the woods. In this weather, however, it was left untouched. The wind blew cold air from the nearly frozen surface of the lake. The region hadn't had its first major freeze of the season yet, but it was only a matter of time before the lake would be layered with thick ice.

You thought back on years prior, remembering when you'd visited here during high school. Fond memories of ice skating and skipping rocks warmed you. Reaching your hand to the bank, you searched for a flat rock. As a teenager, you'd toss rocks over the sheets of ice. When the ice was the perfect thickness, the impact of the stone would pop the sheets like glass. It always echoed across the lake. You distinctly recalled a time when one rock cracked the ice across the entire lake - snapping it in half. You missed those times. There wasn't much to worry about, but everyone had those insane high school stories that were a little too real. You'd give that 'award' to your senior year after a student was kidnapped and never found.

It brought back some pretty rotten memories.

This side of the lake always had fewer rocks than the other side, leaving the soil exposed to the mercy of the waves. Mud covered the ground; scattered with sticks and leaves. You let yourself sink into it, ruining your shoes. You didn't care. The only nice ones you had were for work, anyway. Dipping your hand into a puddle and fighting past the frigid cold, you pulled out a dark grey stone. It was smoothed down perfectly. At your side, you stroke it with your thumb before reeling back and chucking it across the lake. It skipped four times before sinking. You were getting rusty. As the impact rippled across the surface, you slid further down into the mud.

"Goddammit!"

Water sept into your shoes, leaving muddy sludge to soak into your socks. You stepped back - the smell from the movement of stagnant water bothering you. It was a flashback to yesterday: decay and water. Though it smelled much fresher, each whiff twisted more and more into that nasty car smell. Distracted, you hardly noticed the rain clouds collecting above you. The lake front grew colder in a matter of minutes. As a light sprinkle drizzled from above, you turned to make your way back to your car. The smell only grew more powerful, almost as if it had been "kicked up" by the rain. You nearly gagged. As someone who worked around death often, you hadn't done that in a long time.

As you walked away, your shoes squelched beneath you, sticking and sliding over the mud. Usually smells didn't bother you, but something about the other day left you feeling uneasy. You went into homes stained with blood more than a dozen times. Gross water should not be strong enough to make you hurl. Raindrops grew heavier as you went. In return, you moved with urgency, watching your step as you jogged to your car.

gnnnnnngnnnnnn.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you listened. Silence, but there! Again!

gnnnnnnnnngnnn.

You swiveled your head around. Something was groaning, and it sounded ghostly: like a human giving their last breath. A final wheeze. In the distance, covered in mud and lying prone was a man, water pooling under his face. Rushing over to him, you pulled him around until water splashed in your face. As you prepared to start CPR, you stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of his face. Though less disfigured than before, this had surely been the man from yesterday. There was no way he wasn't dead. A film still floated over his eyes, but underneath you could see his bright blue irises. Dirt clung to his thinning pepper-grey hair. He had to be in his 50s or 60s. You slumped over. There was no hope for him - his skin was already slightly translucent, blue veins showing through.

Taking out your phone, you pulled aside and dialed 911. You were surprised you had such good service this far away. Ignoring the body beside you, you spoke to the dispatcher - explaining your situation. She informed you that an ambulance would arrive soon. You tell her that the man is definitely dead. It was unbearable to look at. Forcing yourself to your feet, you left his side and sat in your car as you waited.

Propping open the door, you sat on your driver's seat and dangled your feet outside. You kept an eye on where his corpse was as if he'd disappear from you again. The time passed quickly before the familiar flash of sirens filled the clearing. The boots of an officer crunched under leaves as he walked up to you. Just as you did over the phone, you explained to him every single thing that happened, not sparing a detail. You sounded batsh*t.You saw a man in your car last night but he disappeared and here he is now. Dead. In front of you. Infallible logic.

You gave the officer your information as he grilled you over various questions. Given the circ*mstances, he'd probably think you did it if it didn't look like he'd been lying here for days. Once the officer left to file paperwork, you closed your eyes and leaned against your seat. You shook a little. You didn't understand. While you were certain it was the same man, it made no sense to you. How could you have seen him in your car the day prior?

The officer returns to the side of your vehicle, "You're all good to go, but I'm worried about your safety. Are you good to drive? No offense, but you look exhausted and you live pretty far away. I can have one of my officers give you a ride if you'd like. We can get a tow for your car."

You started blankly at him for a moment, switching to look between him in your car. You were out of it, but you didn't need any help.

"Uh. No. I think I'll be fine, thank you. It's just been a long week. My brain's a little fried, you know?" you joked half-heartedly.

He nodded in understanding, "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call."

That was the end of it. The officer left with the rest of his crew, collecting the body and driving it away. You hadn't recognized anybody who helped you, making you wonder if they were from the neighboring county. Closing your car door, you turned on the interior lights. Somehow, they helped reassure you that he would not be sitting behind you, suffering.

Time had flown by and it had already become late evening. You hadn't believed it at first, but the clock on your dashboard confirmed it. You drove out of the woods as fast as you could, mind racing. You needed a hot meal, and maybe a bath.No. Your spine shivered. You couldn't take a bath. Definitely not. A hot meal: like ramen or stew, comfy clothes, and some sleep. You needed a friend. Safety.

During your drive, you saw dozens of vehicles heading up the way you came. They could only be going to the lake. It made your chills worse. By the time you had arrived home, the sky had grown dark. The stillness in the air unsettled you. Running up your porch two steps at a time, you fumbled with your keys. Once inside, you were quick to turn the lights on, instantly feeling safe in the comfort of your home. You stripped your clothes off and threw them in your hamper. It was the first step towards forgetting about the day. In the kitchen, you slammed down a shot of vodka. It was time to let loose.

Out of your closet, you dressed yourself in the coziest clothes imaginable: fuzzy socks, baggy sweats, and an even bigger hoodie that hid your figure. You immediately got to work and started cooking up a large pot of ramen. Setting the water to boil, you pulled out your phone.

John cared about you and would probably want to hear your account about what had happened tonight. Opening your contacts, you went to scroll for John's number but were stopped by an unfamiliar name added to your favorites. Smirking, you absentmindedly stirred the boiling water.

"Tim". You only knew one Tim - the one you met earlier today. Curious, you opened the contact. Yup. You didn't recognize this number either. The area code wasn't from here either.Tim gave you his number?The time it took for him to call his friend suddenly made sense. He was busy putting himself into your contacts. You wondered for a moment if the entire scenario was fake - did he knock on the door only to flirt with you? You remembered his handsome face and the way he carried himself earlier.

Clicking "message", you stared at the empty text box. The water behind you started a rolling boil and you added in your noodles before drafting a message.

YOU:Tim? sent 8:46 pm
YOU:Like "i need a ride" Tim sent 8:46 pm
TIM:was giving you my number too much? sorry, i thought you were pretty sent 8:46 pm
Wow. That was a fast response. You had already let him inside your apartment once and he didn't do anything crazy. He thought you were pretty. It wouldn't be too desperate to give him a booty call already, would it?

YOU:I was wondering how far away you are
Absolutely not. That wasn't any good.

YOU:i dont know how to say this but i was actually wondering if you would like to join me for dinner. if you arent too far away of course. i have a 5-starMichelin meal of ramen waiting. sent 8:48 pm
TIM:wow. 5-stars huh? must be a pretty good meal if the Michelin scale ends at 3. count me in. sent 8:48 pm
YOU:keep in mind our strict dress code *dress like a bum ;) sent 8:49 pm
You tossed your phone on the counter, feeling giddy. Excitement tingled down your spine. You wanted to forget tonight and you felt like a hook-up would be the next best thing. Now that you thought about it, you hadn't gone out with a guy in forever - even though this technically wasn't a date at all.

Finishing the ramen, you fixed up two bowls, hoping it wouldn't take him very long. It'd be embarrassing as hell to serve him cold food. You went to turn on your T.V. by lit the fireplace instead. Should you tell him what happened? You didn't want to regret calling him, but you did want to have someone with you. Maybe you should've called Kari instead? She would've taken you out to a Korean Barbeque and you would've gotten wasted off of Soju.

You waited anxiously, pulling out two beers. You sipped on yours as you waited, not wanting to eat until Tim had arrived. You were already feeling tipsy.Biiiinnnnng!

TIM: i'm at your door. #407 right? sent 9:07 pm
Smiling, you rushed to the door. Just in case, you looked through the peephole to see him standing in front of the door and staring down at his cell phone.

"Hey!" you said, the door pulled open.

Tim matched your vibe, wearing a pair of sweats with his jacket over his shirt. He gave you a short "hey" back and you wasted no time inviting him inside. He took his jacket off, looking for a place to put it. Taking it from him, you hang it in a nearby closet. Underneath, he wore a tight, black thermal. He was certainly defined in the arms. In fact, his biceps looked large and tight. He had the figure of a power-lifter. It made your face heat up, but if Tim noticed he didn't say anything.

"Dinner, Monsieur?" you joked as you gestured towards the two steaming bowls of ramen.

"Smells really good!" he said.

The two of you ate together on the living room couch. You got cozy, talking for what felt like hours. It didn't take long for you to finish your beer, but Tim had only gotten halfway through his - taking his time.

"I'm curious. What made you call back so soon? Don't get me wrong - I thought I was pretty slick with that, but why? I thought I'd have to message you first."

You paused for a moment, feeling fuzzy already.

"Is everything alright?" his tone was soft as he reached a hand out to touch your knee.

"Oh. Today was pretty tough I guess,"

"Did you want to talk about it?"

You had little room to think, just speaking off what came to mind.

"I found a dead body out by the lake," you admitted, words coming out slowly.

"That must've been really scary," he put his bowl on the coffee table and moved his hand to your shoulder. He waited until you spoke again.

"It was different,"

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Ain't nothing I haven't seen before." you started. While it wasn't a lie, your answer wasn't the truth. You didn't feel okay. You had been around death before, but this was different. You were disturbed and felt like you were seeing things that weren't real.

"You a cop or something?"

You giggled. Maybe you should've given some context before saying what you did.

"Don't worry I won't arrest you for smoking the devil's lettuce," you joked, "but not quite. I work with the forensics team."

He said nothing, only humming in response, "Could you... Would you mind staying? With me tonight?" you asked him, slurring your words softly.

He smiled.

"Sure," he said, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, "I'd like that."

Your body tingled but you weren't sure if it was from him or the alcohol.

"You're pretty," you blurted out. Tim laughed.

"Oh yeah?"

"Because of your text. You called me pretty. I think so too."

You stared into each other's eyes. You pulled in.

"I really wanna kiss you," you admitted.

"Already?"

You nodded. You were lost in his eyes, thinking about how much you were yearning for him. You wanted to hook up. You wanted him to take you into your room and make you forget everything that had happened. Tim calling your name pulled you from your thoughts.

"How much have you had to drink tonight?"

You blinked at him, confused. What did that have to do with anything? Did you say the wrong thing?

"Not that much," you told him, but your face fell as you realized that you hadn't had much to eat today. He takes you to your bedroom, helping you the entire way.

"Let's get you to bed, okay?"

"I'm sorry," you said.

"There's nothing to apologize for," he told you, letting you down onto your mattress, "I want you to be the real you before we do anything like that."

You woke up late the next morning feeling absolutely exhausted. Unfortunately for you, you still remembered the day before and you were hungover. You rose from the warmth of your bed covers and made your way into the kitchen. Tim was nowhere to be seen, his jacket missing from the closet. Frowning, you went to make breakfast. A bright pink sticky note had been placed on your fridge. Pulling it off, you read his messy scribbles

Sorry for leaving you behind. Had to get to work. Call me sometime?
You sighed. It was better than nothing, but you still couldn't help but feel duped. You wished he was here. Mumbling to yourself, you crumpled the note up and threw it into the trash. A small bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee - that was all you could stomach. As you enjoyed your mediocre breakfast, you went over your missed messages.

JOHN: ineed you to come down here now sent 7:20 am
JOHN: the case from the lake was sent to us sent 7:24 am
JOHN: thatguy you found goes a bit deeper than we expected sent 7:25 am
JOHN:and it's not looking too good sent 7:25 am
JOHN:are you still not awake? this is urgent. why didn't you text me? sent 7:47 am
You cradled your head in your hands. How could you forget to text John? It was only 10 am. What could be so important that John was this pissed off? A DNA match maybe? You finished your breakfast and got yourself out the door as fast as possible.

The weather was colder than usual. Grey clouds from yesterday still blanketed the sky and the roads were covered in sleet. Unlike yesterday, you thought "f*ck it"and took your own car. Once you arrived at work, there were many cars in the parking lot. Oh. Visitors. As soon as you walked into the lobby, the extra bodies became evident. It was packed with officers. Scanning the room, you looked for anybody you recognized.

You head to the back of the building. You could hear John before you turned the corner.

"Is all this attention really necessary?"

"I understand your concern, but this is now a much larger investigation. You can't just push us out of this."

John opened his mouth, ready to protest, but the officer beat him to it. "A man was smuggled from his prison cell - practically disappearing from thin air - and is found hours later and miles away. Dead. By one of your own employees. Do you realize just how highly significant this is? This isn't just a joint investigation, we're here to make sure that nothing goes wrong."

You could practically feel John's rage. The officer's words were a lot to take in. Of course,John knew how important everything was.

"What happened put this case in jeopardy and I'll be dammed if it was because of y'all." the officer continued.

You walked up to John and made very strong eye contact. His hair was messy and he had bags under his eyes. Usually, he hid his stress exceptionally well, but today was clearly not his day. The man speaking to John is short and pudgy, balding at the top. Stereotypically, his stomach droops over his belt and gun holster. The officer looks over at you with a face of pure disdain.

"You finally showed up. We were wondering when you were gonna get here." the man spoke, "It's almost noon for heaven's sake!" he emphasized, checking his watch.

"If you'd consider the fact that she discovered a dead body last night, I think you'd understand why she's being excused for her tardiness today. She doesn't even work today."

Ignoring the ignorant man in front of you, you walked towards the storage room.

"John, may I speak in private, please?" you didn't wait for him to respond and made your way to the door. John followed close behind. He closes the door behind him.

Nestled between water jugs and extra chairs you whispered screamed at him, "What the f*ck is going on?"

"The man you found at the lake last night was out lead. Saul Bellhouse."

Tapping your foot, you let John's words digest. It's like you're suddenly there again, watching the old man dying. Helpless. You did your best to recall what he looked like, but it made your skin crawl.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could've told you under better circ*mstances,"

"Does he-" you trembled like a pathetic little worm, "does that guy out there think I did this?"

"Yeah, that's my guess. He doesn't seem to like you very much. But don't worry. I'm gonna do everything to help you stay in the clear right now."

"Multiple people? Do you think more than one?"

John nodded, "People like to jump to conclusions. Conspiracy theorists will always exist."

"But I could never pull anything like this off! No matter how tall and strong, how could I smuggle someone out of prison? Just because Saul was old, he wasn't weak or anything? I dunno I just think he could probably take me on in a fistfight and win - for sure." you punctuated, "Hell, it's not like my job gives me an advantage, anyway! I couldn't take him out without being caught, who does he think he is?"

John listens to you rant in silence.

"How long do I have to work with him?" you asked.

"Probably until the case is solved. Or at least until we can clear you."

Sighing, you pushed your hair out of your face and pulled at the roots. Innocent people get locked away every day and you could not be next just for some coincidence. Locked in prison for calling the police!

"Don't freak out yet, okay? We'll get it all figured out. Maybe the extra help will be good."

Unamused, you let John continue.

"We have more hands on the investigation. Once we get everyone on your side, we might actually have a chance at catching this person. I think these murders might be connected. I mean, it's a lotta coincidences, but at least those two make sense. In fact, I think you might be in danger."

"Why would you think something like that?'

"Just the odds of all of this don't make sense. If you aren't being framed, then it sure is strange how much involvement you've had so far. I don't want to risk you getting hurt. I'm already trying to prevent as much media attention as I can. Hell, I'm surprised we don't have more people up our asses right now."

In the past, you'd never seriously considered your chances of being targeted due to your involvement. Now that John expressed his concerns, it did seem possible. It made you feel sick all over again.

"Especially with what happened in your car. I believe you. I promise. I believe what you saw, but I think you need to give yourself some space. For your mental health. It gets the best of us, I promise." he pulls out a business card for a local psychologist, "I want to take you off the case."

"What? You can't take me off the case!"

"I promise, I think this is what's best for you at the time being. Plus, I don't think you should work around the other officers until we've gained their trust."

He placed the business card in your hand, "I'll make a deal with you. I'll give you some paperwork. Work from home for now, okay? I'll let you know when you're cleared to come back. You can still help, but more behind the scenes when you can."

Without arguing any further, John led you to the workroom and collected some files for you. You thanked him before he sent you his way.

"Leaving already? Huh."

It was the officer John had been speaking to. You wished to ignore him, but instead, you pulled out a smile and offered your hand. He shook.

"Nice to meet you..."

"Kent," he said; brash and punctual.

Before he spoke any further, you walked past him and left the building. Good riddance, you guessed. Rushing outside, you made it into your car and sat in it for a while, listening to the soft pitter-patter of the raindrops. The steering wheel squeaked under your grip. John didn't just take you off the case - he suspended you. Maybe not officially, but out of technicality, this was what this was. It was ridiculous and unfair. You tried to keep hopeful, as it was the most you could do.

After arriving home, you thought everything over, looking at the files in front of you. They were thick and filled with papers, but as you flipped through them you found they were mostly bullsh*t. John gave you the equivalent of busy work. Turning your phone on silent, you worked through them regardless. It took you hours to go through the clerical work - which you weren't even sure if you were meant to be doing. Still, it only brought you a small chunk through. You kept checking back, making sure you hadn't made any mistakes. Groaning, you checked the time.

Though it was still early, going to sleep now wasn't too unreasonable. Plus, your eyes were growing blurry as hell. Even so, your mind was running at a thousand miles a minute.

Walking to your room, you detour to the bathroom. Maybe you needed some self-care? You always worked your ass off, it was the least you could do. Life was putting you through the wringer.

The bathroom was small, but it was fine for the price of your apartment - and you had a tub. It was almost too small, but you could deal. Turning on the faucet, you let the bath draw as you rummaged through your cabinets. You gathered everything: soaps, bath bombs, candles - all of it. Looking at the massive pile, you figured you should start doing this more often.

Before lighting a candle, you randomly selected a bottle of bubble bath and squeezed the shimmery liquid into the water. It smelt like lavender and vanilla. Dimming the lights, you stripped your clothes off. With the mood set, you stepped into the bath and slipped into the water. Letting yourself soak, you relaxed as the heat eased your sore muscles. You lay there and listened to the soft ripples of the water when suddenly the overhead light cut out.Damn it. The candles didn't do much to help you see, but it was enough for you to find your robe and investigate.

Standing by the door, you flipped the light switch on and off, but it did nothing. Grabbing your phone, you turned on your flashlight. It had started to storm earlier, maybe a powerline was knocked over? Navigating through the dark house, you made your way to the door and opened it. The weather outside was fine. It was chilly, but it had stopped raining, and the wind was minimal. Frowning, you closed the door. You remembered to pay your bills. You checked for an outage. Your neighbors looked to have electricity.

With awoosh,you hear the power turn back on. Odd. Power surge. Ignoring it, you walked back to the bathroom. Unraveling the tie to your robe, you turned to the bathtub and let out a terrible scream.

The small window about the tub had been smashed in, jagged pieces of glass bloodied. In the water, where you had sat, was a dead man, - gashes sprawling over his body. His blood stained the water red.This could not be happening. You knew you were not crazy!

You tried to compose yourself, but you were trapped in place, trying to figure out what to do next. Call the police? That had backfired on you last time. Two dead bodies within two days was not how you become a neighborhood hero. They're just gonna see it as another murder. Shaking, you unlocked your phone. Who could you call? John? You couldn't, that'd just make things harder for him.

Letting out another scream, you hugged yourself. What was wrong with you? You knew you hadn't killed this man, but you were coated in fear. Trying to cover it up would get you in more trouble than anything else.

Trying to think logically, you thought. You just needed to find a way to prove yourself and find a way to make your story seem believable, but it seemed impossible. Now, you could hardly believe yourself. That was when you spotted it: a bright pink sticky note taped to your cabinet door.

Chapter 3: Sleeping with Fishes

Chapter Text

You plucked the sticky note from the cabinet door. Its edges were softened and the back had begun losing its adhesive. Recognizing it instantly as the sticky note from Tim, you felt chills. Along the bottom were a few hastily scribbled words.

Why did you throw me away?

Hyperventilating,you began to freak out. Was Tim being involved in this, too? Were you being watched? What kind of f*cked up person would plan something like this. It was abhorrent, the mere thought making you gag. How could they get a body in your house? You walked backward into the wall, half expecting the person terrorizing you to be hiding somewhere. Was this supernatural? You shook the thought off instantly.

The man in your tub had been pushed through your window. Whoever did it had to be strong enough to lift them above their head. You racked your brain. Did you know anyone who could do that? These crimes usually came from family members and friends, but nobody fit the profile for you. It wasn't impossible, but you hadn't seen anything like this before.

Should you call Tim? You figured he lived close by and whoever was doing this was targeting both of you. Torn, you were unsure what to say. How do you even explain something like that over the phone? Trusting dumb luck, you dialed his number. Your growing headache made it difficult to think clearly. You never imagined that you'd bethatperson - failing to call the cops in fatal situations. It happened all the time, but you never thought it'd be you, all because we were too afraid of the consequences. It was such bullsh*t. You had never felt more angry and frustrated.

Legs wobbling, adrenaline kept your body alert. You sat on the toilet seat - scared that you would fall over. You tried your best to avert your eyes from the boy's body. With a deep breath in, you tried to close your eyes, but you felt drawn to his image. He was a young man, tired with deep purple bags under his eyes. He looked right through you. Much like Saul, he sank down into the water. He too, was helpless. If the police were eager to blame you for Saul, they'd do it for him, too.

Most jarring, the boy had a thick, deep cut across his neck. That was surely what ended his life

For the next few moments, you switched between looking at Tim's phone number and staring at the young man. You did so until you forced yourself to make a decision. Stomach churning and aching, you hit the call button. He made you feel safe, safer than you'd ever felt before honestly. Though you were embarrassed of your drunk booty call, it only showed you how genuine Tim was. He didn't want to hurt you. If he wanted to, he already would have. The phone ringing was the loudest noise you had ever heard.

Briiiiiiing.You loved texting him the other day, but now your stomach was fluttering with anxiety rather than butterflies. Why did you have to be so f*cking anxious?

Briiiiiiing. The sensation only intensified. Your breathing grew heavier. Would he even pick up? It wasn't late, yet. Maybe he wasn't that serious about you calling him tonight? Should you hang up?

Briiiiiiing.You were embarrassed. You were disappointed. He wasn't going to pick up and it hurt you in a way you had never felt before. Face burning hot, you begin to pull the phone from your ear, before Tim's voice calls your name. You don't speak for a few seconds, choked up from fear. What were you supposed to say?

"Huh-hello?" you whispered, voice wavering.

"Hey! You called me back. What's up?" you could practically hear his smile over the phone. He sounded overjoyed to speak to you.

"Do you know Saul? Saul Bellhouse?" you asked deadpan. Great job. You chose the most awkward thing to ask. Tim is quiet for a while.

"Are you still there?"

You hear the rustling of clothes in the background.

"I'm heading over. Just stay where you are." his tone was gruff and firm.

"Nuh-n-" your panic rose, "no that's okay, really. I don't wanna see anyone today-"

Before you could finish, Tim had hung up the phone. Staring at the bathtub, you were full-blown hyperventilating. What were you supposed to do? If he found him, you were sure he'd turn you in and never want to see you again. Everything would be ruined.

Gagging as you did so, you stuck your hand into the water and pulled the tub drain. The water swirled down, leaving a blood-red ring stained onto the porcelain. Walking to your sink, you poured about a cup full of soap into your hands and scrubbed until your skin began to slough. Pulling out the three bath towels you owned, you unfolded each and gently laid them over the body. You tried to conceal him the best you could, but it very much looked like you were trying to hide a body underneath three bath towels. It did not help you that his blood had begun to soak through.

Quick rapping banged onto your front door.sh*t, Tim was here already?Wasting no time, you pulled the shower curtain closed. You looked at the terrible job you did. It was awful, but it was all you could do. What the f*ck were you even doing? The knocking got louder and you heard Tim call out your name. Robe still wrapped around you, you made your way to the living room. Making a gamble, you clicked on the TV. Maybe you could convince Tim that it was all you were up to.

Taking your time, you cracked the door open, just peeking out. He wore that same jacket.

"There you are, Jesus. Took you long enough," he pushed the door open, inviting himself inside. You tried your best to stop him, but your words could only bring you so far.

"I thought you'd never answer that door," he shut it behind him and locked it,"what is it? Cat got your tongue?"

He said the idiom with a bright smile, lightening the tone. It was certainly cute, but you had a dead f*cking body in your bathroom. You couldn't help but think it over and over. There's a body in there, there's a body in there, there's a body in there-

During your silent response, Tim looked you up and down, his eyes taking in every inch of you. You stepped back a bit. You were still in your bathrobe and Tim was giving you 80 mixed signals at once.

"What's wrong?" his voice was soft. You felt forced to find an answer.

"It's nothing." you insisted, but your voice cracking gave you up.

"Are you sure? Why'd you call?"

"I thought you'd know why since you came over so quickly."

Tim sighed and held on close to you. You leaned into his embrace as he led you to the couch. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you tried to fight off the cold. Even if you managed to warm up, you knew it wouldn't stop you from shaking in Tim's arms. It felt like you were being watched.

"How do you know Saul, then?" you asked.

Tim cleared his throat, settling into his seat. Waiting for an answer, you urged him, "Well?"

"Saul wasn't a very good man. There's not much more to know than that."

"He was in prison, I could guess that much. And that doesn't answer my question."

"We were business associates. That's the extent of how I knew him."

You eyed Tim down. The businessman you knew Saul to be was a money launderer. Was Tim really involved in a money laundering scheme? Being business associates didn't clear things up, it only gave you more questions. Tim closed in and spoke softly.

"Look. We'll talk about it another time. I know yesterday wasn't the best for you. We shouldn't keep this on your mind. Were you about to take a bath? I can help draw one for you. I know you're still shaken up, let's take it easy today." Tim went on, but you spaced out somewhere around the word "bath". You did not want to take a bath. Trying to find anything to say, you blurt out what comes to your mind.

"You can't go in there!"

Horrified, you gasped, holding your hand over your mouth as if it'd take the words back. Why couldn't you say anything else?No thanks, I already did. No thanks, I actually have no hot water. No! You were too stupid for logic. f*ck, you were such an idiot.

"C'mon sunshine. Ain't nothing to be embarrassed about I promise."

Tim's words came out sickly sweet. If it were any other day, you'd be clouded with glee. Instead, you were about to sh*t yourself. There was no way Tim couldn't tell there was something wrong. How could he be so oblivious to the painful discomfort in the room? It was written across your face; scrunched and tensed up, you ground your teeth.There's a body in there.Tim stood up, going straight towards the bathroom. Shooting up from your spot on the couch, you tried to stop him.

"Really, it's fine. I already took a bath before you got here. See, I'm still kind of wet," you flopped your body against his, hoping he could feel the dampness of your robe. The closer he got to the bathroom door, the harder you pulled, tugging his arm and gripping his biceps. He drags you along with no struggle.

"Don't worry. No excuses. I can tell you need some self-care."

Youdidneed self-care, but then someone put a body in your bathtub! Dragging you further, your breathing became rapid and hectic. You whimpered out a no, but your throat made no sound. What made him so stubborn? You knew he was trying to do good and take care of you, but you needed him to listen to you. You couldn't let him open that door! Slumping forward even more, you wrapped around his thighs. If he saw, he would hate you forever.

In this moment, you loathed and adored him. You wanted him to stay, but you wanted him to vanish. You were ruined. Tears streamed down your face. As you fell to the floor, Tim walked into the bathroom. You let out a pathetic sob.

He was in the room for only a few moments, before he spoke.

"What is all of this?" you heard as he came back to your form, now in the fetal position. He pulled you up with ease, bringing you to sit down on the toilet seat. You knew you had already lost and did nothing to stop him as he peeled the bloodied towels off of the boy's body. Tim made a sound of pity. What?

"Oh, baby..." he turned toward you, reaching to caress you on the face. His thumbs whipped away at your tear-stained cheeks as he spoke, "What happened?'

He spoke to you delicately, voice lilting every so often. If you weren't so scared sh*tless, you'd maybe find it comforting.

"I know you're nuh-not gonna believe me. But you nee-huh-need to trust me, please. I promise you I didn't do this. I real-luh-ly couldn't have done it. I mean, you don't thuh-think I could do something like this, could you?" you blubbered on, but Tim shushed you.

"Hey, hey, hey - it's okay. It's okay. You don't have to hide yourself anymore. You can be honest around me. We all make mistakes." you froze, looking up at him through blurred vision. Mistakes? Honest? You were telling the truth!

"But I'm telling you I didn't do it!" you pleaded.

"Come on. It's alright. We'll talk about it later. Help me pick up these towels and lay them on the floor."

He encouraged you to rise to your feet. You were confused. This was supposed to be the part where he turned you in. Why wasn't he pulling out his phone to call the police? What was he doing? What were you doing? Unconsciously, you had started to help him and laid out a towel. You placed them out together and waited for him to make his next move. Was he here to embarrass you?

Tim stripped off his jacket and placed it neatly on the counter. Crouching down, he pulled the body up and hoisted it over his shoulder into a fireman carry. Then, he laid the man above the towels.

Oh dear god. Was he helping you?

Tim led you around, instructing you on what to do and when. Both of you had spent the next hour or so scrubbing the mess in the bathtub and any spillage on the floor. Tim was meticulous, yet everything had turned out wonderfully. You could barely tell that there had been blood stains. Tim helped you pick up shards of broken glass, throwing each piece into a trash bag.

"What do we do about that?" you mumbled, gesturing toward the broken window. He followed your gaze.

"We fix that when we get back."

Had you died? Did Tim hit you over the head once he found the body? You had seemingly committed a terrible crime, yet Tim didn't care at all.

After wrapping the body into trash bags, Tim carried the boy to your car and placed him in the trunk. You were lucky. Though you worried the entire time, it was late and most everyone had gone to bed. This part of the city was not where all the parties happened. Tim convinced you to get into the passenger seat with him. Numb, you sat silently beside him as he drove you to the woods.

The two of you ended up not too far away from the lake, pulling slightly deeper into the woods surrounding it. He pulled you off of the main road and onto a tiny dirt path. It was as if he knew exactly where to go. After a few more miles in that direction, Tim stopped.

Again, he convinced you to step out with him. In an hour, you went from feeling deranged to feeling shockingly normal. He was helping you hide the body - he was bringing you to bury it.

Tim pulled the body out of the back and let the dead weight fall to the ground. You looked around you. The forest was dense, but the trees were thin as poles. Their canopies made it hard to see, blocking most of the moonlight. Tim seemed to have no issues.

He hummed, "Not here. A little further," he grabbed the body by its arms and slugged it deeper into the woods. You were already so far away from any roads or footpaths that you could only shoot a curious look at the back of Tim's head. Nonetheless, you followed him. Moss squelched underneath your shoes and you pushed aside some foliage. Tim stopped suddenly, nearly causing you to trip over the body.

"Alright. This is it."

You stared at each other.

"What do you mean?" you finally asked, "you aren't gonna bury him or something?"

"I mean... do you really think someone is gonna find him out here?" he looked around as if to prove his point. It didn't feel right to leave him here like this. The least you could do was give him a grave.

"I mean, you saw how thick the brush was this far out. Nobody comes out here anymore. If anyone finds him, it'll be years from now at least. So come on. Let's go."

Firmly, he placed his hand on your shoulder and helped you back to the car. It was so dark, you couldn't see in front of you. You weren't sure how Tim could. You felt scared and ashamed all over again. What did you just let happen? You were a terrible person.

Tim opened the passenger door, helping you sit inside. You had lost yourself and now you were going to lose everything. Even if you got away, how could you look your own friends in the eye? How could you look Sophia in the eye? You had promised yourself and her that you'd do everything to help her, yet here you were, being a monster.

Tim drove you the entire way home in silence, not speaking a word to you. You fiddled with the radio, settling for some sort of podcast segment that you could space out to. You closed your eyes. Why did you let him do this?

"What's on your mind," he spoke abruptly, "I know you're going through a lot. I didn't lie when I mentioned all of that self-care sh*t earlier.

"I don't even know his name, but I hid his body. We didn't even bury him. We just left him there."

"There's nothing you need to worry about. I promise you."

"How can you say something like that? There's so much to worry about. Don't you know this changes everything for me? I don't even know if I'll be able to stomach going back to work." you screamed, voice cracking as you threw your anger onto Tim. He didn't understand and he never could, you knew by his lack of an answer.

It took longer than you expected for Tim to pull in front of your apartment. He hadn't said anything else since you had yelled at him. Instead, you opted to press your face against the bitter-cold window - feeling as the warmth disappeared. Your eyes had begun to burn from all of your crying and your reflection showed that they had swelled up in response. Your dried tears stuck to your skin. It took you a second to realize that the car had been turned off, only noticing when Tim showed up at your passenger door. He opened it for you, unleashing a chill and disrupting you from your death stare. You glared up at him like a deer trapped in headlights. The car never came. Rather, Tim picked you up and carried your limp body through the door.

He thumped his way to your bedroom and laid you down, tucking you under your covers. Wordless, he unlaced his boots and disappeared to the kitchen returning with a glass of water. Your heart panged. You were tremendously upset with him, but he was still being so kind and sweet to you - even after what you had done. You were on the verge of passing out as he placed the glass on your nightstand and slipped beside you. Nestling up to your body, he gently wrapped his arms around you, wordlessly asking for your consent. You let it happen, listening to the soft drags of his breath, all warm on your ears and neck.

"It'll be alright. I promise," he whispered to you. You could only manage a hum in response, too tired to even think of what you had wanted to say. Letting yourself drift and drift, you prayed you wouldn't have a nightmare tonight of all nights. Best case scenario, you'd wake up and none of this would have happened, but your pain had been too real to ever be a dream. You faded.

The incessant flashing of police lights made the back of your head throb in pain. Another migraine was coming on. You had a lot of these lately. The loud whirring of police sirens suddenly shut off as the cruisers situated themselves in front of your apartment. On your knees, hands limp at your sides and shaking uncontrollably, tears soaked your face.

The man's lifeless lay in front of you, drenched in blood.It was the man you took a knife to, slashing and slicing away at his throat until the skin turned into a fleshy pulp. You had massacred him. You couldn't remember why you did it, but there was a nagging feeling at the back of your head. A pull at your gut. It told you over and over that this had all been your fault. You couldn't even recall who the man was, yet he seemed familiar. You couldn't pinpoint it, but it sat as a feeling on the tip of your tongue.

Why did you do this? How could you do such a thing?

Your consciousness faded in and out as you thought. Whenever you focused on anything other than the man, you felt yourself slip away. You did this. You took his life away from him. He had such a wonderful life ahead of him. He still had so much to do. He was discovering the world and his place in it like everyone else was - but you ruined it. You ripped that all away, even though you had no right. It wasn't an act of self-defense when you grabbed him from behind and slid the knife across his skin. It still wasn't self-defense when you ran over the slash again and again and again. He was at your mercy.

A series of heavy blows banged on your door. The force of the impact made your apartment shake, vibrations running across the floor. You were sure they were trying to break down your door by now. They were here to take you away. You were finally being arrested for your crimes, and able to repent for your sins. It would be a miracle for you to be eligible for bail.

The door comes crashing down, flying off its hinges.

Your body jolted awake. Trying to collect yourself, you glance over at your bedside table. It was 3 PM. f*ck. Your skull was in excruciating pain as if someone had grabbed you by it and shook you back and forth until everything inside turned to mush. You attempted to sit up, but you immediately fell back from the pressure causing you to throb and pulse. Were you catching some kind of cold? Your nose was horribly congested, you were freezing, and you barely remembered getting into bed last night. Some kind of flu didn't seem unreasonable considering the amount of stress you were under. Your poor little pea-brain just couldn't handle it anymore - your body had no choice but to give out. You needed a break.

Careful, you eased yourself up and pulled your feet from the warmth of your bed covers. Immediately, You were overcome by an intense chill. You swung your legs off the side of the bed, letting your soles brush against the wooden floorboards. They were practically frozen.

As you sat on the edge, you tried to calm your breathing, but before you knew it, fat tears rolled down your face. They pooled at the tip of your nose and dripped down your chin as you cried. You felt miserable. You thought hard about what made you feel so exhausted last night. You started to shake, memories seeming to seep back like poison. Anxiety cramped your stomach. Were you going to vomit now, too?

Yes, you and Tim had never buried the man in your bathroom. You regretted it heavily, wishing you had argued with him over it. Though you didn't kill the man, what you did was almost equally awful and it could still get you arrested. More so, you ached for his family. They had no body to show for. They would never bury him themselves. It might even be years before they realize he is dead and not missing. They would never say goodbye. Instead, he would sit there exposed to the rain, snow, and heat of the coming seasons, lying on a pile of dirt and leaves. His body would liquefy into the earth.

You glance at the empty side of the bed. Tim had left you again. Regardless of what he reassured you, you knew you did nothing wrong. Tim had told you "Everyone makes mistakes". For whatever reason, he had believed you had killed the boy. Maybe he confused it for self-defense, but still, you couldn't find a way to justify it. You weren't getting out of this easy, but you could make a plea deal in court. You were guilty of following along, you were guilty of not calling the cops - but you weren't the one carrying the body. You weren't the one barking out orders. Yes, you both played a part, but you could testify against him if you had needed to. You had no choice! You didn't do anything wrong!

Beside you, Tim had pushed the blankets back, leaving the bedding in disarray. Something about Tim was very strange as if he had an on-off switch. Something in the way he carried himself seemed different. Before, he had seemed like just a regular guy. He was respectful and cared about you. He didn't want to hurt you, but all of that went to the scrap-bin. You weren't even in a relationship, but the way he left you again saddened you.

Sobs continued to pour from your body. Tim thought you had killed someone and there's no way you could change his mind. No way to convince the stubborn and prideful. You didn't even have the relationship to stand by, as he sullied your trust. Forcing yourself up to your feet, you left to the bathroom, wiping the tears from your face. The door creaked loudly as you pushed it open and the freezing air from the broken window rushed over you. You could still smell that sick tinge of death. A wave of nausea churned in your stomach.

The window had been boarded by Tim. He must've done it some time this morning. The bathtub still looked good as new. Frowning, you pulled out air freshener. The room stunk, but no one one be able to tell that your house was a crime scene. A squelching sound came from your throat as you began to gag again. You spray the can around the room and leave to take a breather. You didn't even want to think about doing any work today.

Throwing on a clean pair of clothes, you headed to your kitchen and grabbed the kettle from your stove top. Filling it with water to boil, you pull out a mug and sit down. You needed tea or cocoa or anything that would make you feel warm inside. As you waited for the water, you sat on the couch and flipped through YouTube. Summer was mind-numbing and you had already watched every title on all the streaming services. You just couldn't bother paying for an HBO subscription anymore. You settled for a mega-compilation of your favorite comedic duo. Though you weren't even watching it, you needed the sounds in the background. It made you feel less out of place.

Their banter and jokes fell on deaf ears. When their words did get through to you, a smile would creep onto your chapped lips. You were stuck in a trance, trying to ignore the image of the man's body slumped over in the bathtub, trying to forget the way Tim dropped his corpse into the foliage. The way Tim didn't care at all when he thought you'd killed him.

Screeeeeeech.

Adrenaline shook through your body before you realized the kettle was ready. Shaking yourself out of it, you prepared your drink. It seemed like you couldn't stop getting lost in your thoughts today.

Careful not to burn yourself, you sipped at the steaming hot drink. In the next few minutes, you tried to absorb yourself in the flavor - using it to distract you. You focused on the froth collecting at the surface. It accompanied the cacophony of silly impressions and childish giggling from the TV. He sucked at video games.

Though you couldn't exactly stop your train of thought. Instead, you decided to come up with a plan to make you feel better. You were still emotional, but that didn't mean you couldn't brainstorm some ways to work through this. The easiest choice would be to let things play out and see what happens. Do nothing at all. However, your own pride and confidence refused to let someone like Tim stay in your life. Even so, you couldn't just ghost him and get away with it. You had a feeling he wouldn't let you go easy.

You wondered if Tim would hold the evidence over your head like blackmail. He had too much leverage over you for you to do anything drastic. Maybe you could talk to him about it, but you weren't sure how you should try to approach it.

Alternatively, you could throw him under the bus instead, yet you felt like you would be unsuccessful - given your circ*mstances. Plus, you'd have to confess everything that had happened. There was no good ending in that choice. You could lose your job and that piece-of-sh*t officer named Kent would see it as proof. You couldn't do that.

You backtrack. You didn't want to talk to Tim, but it felt like your best choice. You wish you hadn't met him that day, but you could go back and give the man a proper burial. It would definitely ease your mind. It was certainly better than just leaving him there like a monster. After that, you could keep your distance from Tim. Move if you have to. Hell, you could quit your job and go somewhere else. Maybe after this, it would be time to move on to better things.

Sighing, you finished your drink. The idea of going back into the words made you want to hurl, but it didn't sound so bad. Mustering up your courage, you opened Tim's phone contact. Your texts from the other night stared back at you.

YOU: can you come over? lets talk sent 4:15 pm

Later in the evening, Tim finally showed up. The two of you spoke for a little bit as you explained yourself to him. To your surprise, he agreed to your plan, not even questioning you. Before you knew it, Tim had driven you exactly where you had left the body. Even after a short amount of time, the body had changed significantly - the snow taking a number on it. At most, Tim reassured you that no one would find the body.

"Whatever makes you happy!"he told you, without a care in the world.

Much like the night before, he did all of the work. He dug the grave six feet deep, moved the body over, and covered it with dirt. The sight made you vomit, but he was right beside you, rubbing your back as you heaved. It made no sense to you. You had smelt death before, but this had bothered you immensely.

"You know, what you did doesn't change what I think about you," he said, running his hand over your shoulders.

You wiped the mixture of food and bile from your mouth and turned to look back at him. Brows furrowing, you spoke, "I didn'tdoanything."

"Don't you remember?" amused, he smiled, "You told me what you did. You told me everything."

There was no way you had told him that. Even if you had done it, you never would! His insistence made you start gagging again, but you managed to hold back anything from coming up again. Pulling closer to you he whispered.

"You told me you killed him. That's why I helped you. You said you didn't know what to do-"

"That's wrong! You're wrong!" you screamed at him, "I was there - I know what I said. How could I be wrong? I specifically told you I didn't do it, Tim! What are you going on about? It's not my fault you weren't listening to me."

Tim tried to comfort you, leaning in for a hug but you pushed him away. He was such a liar.

"When you called, that's what you said. You were mumbling it over and over again. How could Ibe wrong? I know what I heard!" he argued, his tone rising.

"Well then, I guess one of us is a liar!"

Pivoting on your heel, you trudged through mud and underbrush until you arrived at your car. You refused to deal with this. You knew what you said. There was no way you had forgotten. Something like that doesn't just happen. As you walked, Tim trailed behind you. Before you got in, he turned you around to face him.

"You heard me, didn't you? You confessed over the phone like an idiot. I'm just trying to help you. You could've gotten yourself caught." his stone grip presses painfully into your shoulder. The ache was intolerable. You grabbed his hands and tried to pry them off, wincing at the sore sensation.

"You're at my mercy. Anyone else wouldn't have been so kind. I could've handed you over if I wanted, but I didn't. I care about you. I have all the evidence in the world, yet I'm still doing this all for you."

You were drenched in doubt. Tim had seemed so sure of himself, but you didn't remember anything like that happening. There was no way, but your brain was doubting itself.What if? What if you did?Maybe you had said it by accident. This was all a big miscommunication!

"What were you gonna do anyway? Go back home? If I were you, I'd have skipped town already," he let go of you, "but you aren't anything like me. I can tell. You wanna go back, huh? You think you can just hide away from all of this. You're wrong. You've made too many mistakes."

Well, that's what you were planning on doing, but you weren't confident in your abilities to run from the feds.

"How would you know?" you asked.

A sly smirk was plastered over his face, "I've helped you this much already. I know you so much more than you think. That was your first mistake. You too trusting, honestly. You hardly know anything about me either. That night you got drunk, I just let you talk and talk until you had spilled almost everything about yourself. And now here we are: you have me doing all of your dirty work. Is this how you treat all the guys you meet?"

"Okay, fine! You've made your f*cking point. Are you gonna keeping sh*tting on me because I'm a dumbass? Drive me home."

"That's not my point. What are you doing after all of this? What's your plan?"

Rolling your eyes, you huffed. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. It wasn't like you could tell him you wanted to throw him under the bus. Especially in the situation you were in. If you tried to take him down, he would drag you down with him. Worse, if the phone call was true...

"Tell me what you know about Saul. What you really know. No bullsh*tting me seriously. I mean. I guess we're partners in crime now, so you can be truthful. Who are you, really?"

Amused, Tim looked down at you. That dumb smile of satisfaction hadn't left his face.

"That's what I'm talking about. Asking the right questions," he said, "but I already told you everything you need. He was a liar and a thief, more than anything. And he thought he could outsmart the system, but he was wrong."

"Did you kill him?" you demanded.

"Me? No. Can't deny that I was involved though."

Okay then, new approach.

"What system was it that he tried to outsmart? Like the criminal justice department?"

"That's a great question, but you're swallowing more than you can chew right now. That's how you end up like him. I guarantee you, if you push it too far I won't be able to help save you."

"Ugh, that's so not fair! You can't just tell me to ask better questions and refuse to answer them. What are you gonna kill me for knowing? Are you some sort of mafia freak? Gonna use me as a pawn for your own dumb game?"

Tim held out his hands in defense.

"Hey, now! I never said I'd kill you. Saul died because he tried to abuse others for power he didn't deserve. I have reason to believe you won't do something stupid like that. You know your place in this."

What a dick. With the reason for Saul's murder at your fingertips, you practically beg Tim to spill the truth.

"Tell me what happened. I need to know."

"Saul stole some money. A lot of it. That money wasn't his." Tim said.

"That's why he went to prison. I already knew that. I'm asking for why and how the f*ck he was released and found dead. That's all I've wanted to know because nobody thinks it makes sense."

"The money was supposed to come back, but it never did. It left a handful of people in an unfortunate situation. He was told not to get caught, but he didn't listen." Tim said, ignoring your question.

All of this was over a bunch of money? How ridiculous. It didn't add up to you.

"What about the rest of the Bellhouse family? Saul was killed after the family was massacred. That can't be a coincidence."

Tim leaned nonchalantly against one of the trees surrounding you. His hands found refuge in his pockets, shielding him from the cold.

"You're right about it being no coincidence. That's true. I say - you seem to know a lot more than you probably should. What do you have to do with the Bellhouses?"

You didn't want to dig an even deeper hole for yourself.

"I already know where you work. No need to pretend. What were you gonna do, frame me for murder?"sh*t, "You can't. Isn't it obvious? I can't save you from the consequences of learning this. Your choices from now on will make or break you, you know that? If you don't want to end up like him, you should stay on my good side. Now, come one. No reason to wait here any longer."

Great. Now Tim was threatening you. You let him lead you to the car and drive you back home without a fight. You needed to think this through. You thought you were on the right track, but now everything was worse than before. Tim had just about confessed to you. He was involved in the murders and he was hiding valuable information from you. For some reason, you were hesitant. It felt like whatever you do, you'd end up f*cked. You didn't want to end up in prison either. Maybe that's what Time was talking about: if you tried to swallow more than you could chew, you'd end up just like him. If you didn't pester Tim to come back, he wouldn't have gotten upset with you. You'd have a chance at not rotting away in prison.

You were selfish. You didn't want to get in trouble, but you didn't want to let Tim slip between your fingers like sand. All because you were too scared of losing your dignity. You were disgusting; barely worth your job anyway.

Tim slowed to a stop in your driveway. Wasting no time, you hopped out of the car and walked up your doorstep. Tim exited the driver's seat, footsteps following yours.

"What are you doing?" you murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"Aren't you going to leave? I'm sure you have better things to do. There's no reason for you to be here."

"I have something you need to do for me. I asked you to stay on my good side after all."

Barely audible, you whispered out, "fine," before unlocking your door and pushing it open. Tim trailed you, but waited in your entryway.

"I won't be here for long. They gave you paperwork right? You've got files from your boss or whoever?" he asked.

You nodded.

"Do me a favor. Burn them. Every last page."

Chapter 4: Coffee Talk

Chapter Text

Hours had passed since Tim dropped you off at your apartment late that evening. Sleepiness tugged away at your eyelids and your mind felt clouded by a heavy fog. Still, you were too amped up to fall asleep. For whatever reason, tonight, insomnia was hitting you hard. Though Tim had told you to burn the paperwork, you struggled to do so. Instead, you held the bundled folders in your arms and sat on the living room floor. You contemplated for hours. Should you torch them as he asked you to? Maybe you could get away with tossing them instead?

Either way, there was no good choice. All of them would get you in trouble. How were you supposed to explain to John that you'd thrown away casefiles? Not only was that extremely uncharacteristic of you, but it was ridiculous. You ruminated over it. What would be the best way to worm yourself out of this situation? You were sure there'd be an answer somewhere, but it was so damn impossible.

As you sat, realization dawned on you: you were absolutely f*cked. f*cked, f*cked, f*cked, f*cked. Two murders? Saul and this young boy. Sure, you didn't kill Saul, but hell - everyone made you feel like you had! Half of the goddamn police force were convinced. If they refused to take your side upon finding Saul, why the hell would they believe you now? At least regarding Saul, you were completely clean of any actual crimes. If anyone found out about what happened with the boy in the bathtub, your career would be over. Burying him was a crime as is; they could pin you as an accomplice. Worst of all, they might completely give up on the case with the Bellhouse's. It would be a hell of a lot easier to point the finger at you and more than enough to get the press off of their backs. With tensions so high, they were probably itching to find any leads at all, even if they were wrong.

Head resting in the crook of your arm, you sighed. That was exactly what would happen, you were sure of it. It gave everybody someone to hate, especially if they think they won't find who did it. The same sort of thing happened more often than not: wrongful conviction. While it happened for a multitude of reasons, in your case they'd use it to defuse the public outrage over the horrific crime. God, you were ruined.

Throwing the folders into the milk crate beside you, you stood up. Maybe you could just return them? That didn't sound too bad. You could tell him the trauma from the situation had you on edge and you didn't want an assignment while you were gone. John had already removed you from the case anyway. Chances are he wouldn't mind. It might be good for you after all - some personal time off. A week. Maybe two. Then your head would be cleared and you could get back to work.

John knew you were a good noodle - always doing what you needed, meeting your deadlines, and taking on extra tasks. You were a workaholic to the max. Worst case scenario, you could use your PTO. John might even admire your actions. It's not like telling him all of this would be lying. Saul did f*ck you up. The crime did pack a punch. With hallucinations added to the mix? John couldn't say no. He didn't have to find out that you were in cahoots with some crazy ass gang member - who you were pretty sure killed people for a living. At least, that's what you gathered. Tim was so nonchalant about everything, he had to be a murderer. Who goes through something like that so willingly?

I suppose Tim could just be a very odd, unempathetic person, but that was hard to back up. There were various moments in the few days you knew him where Tim was rather kind to you. However, that was where the narrative ended. You didn't know Tim outside of this context. He could be vastly different away from you. Now that you thought about it, you had never seen Tim interact with anyone other than yourself. It was only ever him and you.

Shivers slipped down your spine. Maybe he was a ghost, a figment of your imagination, a product of the trauma? Shaking yourself out of it, you refused to think about the thought any further. Tim was no wraith. You had touched him and felt him and the evidence of what he had done for you was real. It was a stupid thought. You couldn't have buried the man by yourself.

Heading over to your kitchen, you opened a cupboard and pulled down a small drinking glass. You held the cup underneath the sink and pulled on the handle. By now, your cup should be full of stale city tap water, but instead, the sink shuddered and made a thunderous whirring sound as the water tried climbing up the pipes. With a loud hiss, a pathetic trickle of water streamed out. Slamming the sink handle down, you put the cup away. As soon as the sink turned off, the humming noise ended. Water was out of the question.

Damn sh*tty landlords. You paid your bills - you always did. They must've failed to give you a maintenance notice again. The dribble of water wasn't enough to drink from. Besides, the water swirling around the sink basin was unappetizing, to say the least. It was a muddy grey color and emitted an eggy smell as it swirled down the drain.

What a headache. Living in an apartment complex - no matter how nice - always had its downsides. You could only hope that the plumbing would be fixed soon. The last time something like this happened, maintenance took ages to find and fix the problem, and that only happened if they actually thought it was an issue worth fixing. You scrunched your face thinking about that black mold that grew in your college dorm. At least things could be worse. It's not like you could afford a house.

Orange juice. That's what you had in your fridge. You pulled out the carton and chugged. The juice was freezing as you gulped it down, small ice crystals had formed inside. It wouldn't hurt to turn down the fridge temperature. The window in your bathroom was still boarded up with wood panels. It was cold enough in the apartment and you didn't want everything to freeze solid.

Recalling the broken window made you cringe and brought up the same debate you struggled with earlier. How were you gonna explain to your landlord what had happened? That would be an ordeal in itself. There was a possibility that you could convince Tim to deal with it for you, but that would be another favor you'd be asking him. Plus, you really wanted to ghost him. You didn't want to turn into a walking list of debts. Either you did it yourself or you did nothing at all.

Tossing the orange juice back into the fridge, you settled. You couldn't afford to look any more suspicious than you already were. Burning the papers like Tim asked was not going to happen. He could deal. The only way it was happening was if he broke in and did it himself. It wasyourpredicament,yougot to choose the outcome.

Diiiiiing donggggg.

Your head perked up. It was rare for anybody to come up to your front door. Pulling out your phone, you checked your notifications. Nothing. It couldn't be anybody you knew. In this day and age, nobody was batsh*t enough to not send a warning text first. This wasn't the pre-mobile phone era; everyone had anxiety now.

Picking up the crate and sliding it under your coffee table, you walked over to the door. Through the grainy, fishbowl view of the peephole, you recognize the signature look of a maintenance worker. From what you could see, the man wore heavy work boots, thick gloves, and an ugly blue uniform. It was a full-body coverall without a hood and was stained black with grease and dirt.

That was fast.

Opening the door slightly, you peeked your head out, just in case this was some sicko ballsy enough to rob you on your doorstep.

"Hello?"

Looking through the peephole didn't do the man justice. He was rather tall and fairly attractive. Poorly attached to the breast pocket of his uniform was an off-centered patch, peeling at the corners. After deciphering the sh*tty type font, you read out the company name.

"ALLICO PLUMBING AND MAINTENANCE LLC: RUBEN"

Huh. Truthfully, the company was completely unfamiliar to you, but it wasn't abnormal for your landlord to hire third-party companies as needed. The plumbing issue must have been much worse than you originally anticipated if she was willing to pay a real company to come out.

The man greeted you with a crooked smile - teeth aged by a chronic smoking habit. You could smell the scent of tobacco wafting off of him.

"Mornin' little lady," he spoke, voice shockingly southern, "here to check out the plumbin' issue y'all been havin'."

You nodded and stepped aside, motioning to him to come inside.

"You're here fast. Just me or is everybody having problems?"

He picked up a bag of tools and stepped inside, "Not the entire complex, but everyone in yer unit been complainin'. Boss lady wants it fixed ASAP."

Saying you weren't anxious would be a complete lie, but you trusted that Ruben was working in good faith. Steel-toed boots thudded heavily through the room as he made his way to the kitchen sink. Ruben went to work immediately, fiddling with the sink and turning it on and off to address the issue. As soon as the tap was turned on, it emitted the same deafening humming noise you'd heard earlier. Ruben's face illuminated.

"Yup. Figured."

"What?" you frowned crossing your arms, "what's wrong with it."

"Noise is a lot worse in here. Figured I was trackin' the source of yer disturbance."

Ruben pulled out a small flashlight and shined it down the drain, "you get somethin' up and stuck in this here drain? Grease, coffee grounds, hair? Y'know, just cause there's a disposal ain't no food 'sposed to go down here."

It was an innocent question. Accidents happened. Things got stuck in drains all the time, you were sure of it! Even so, Ruben's words stuck to your psyche like Mod Podge. You must've looked guilty, as Ruben gave you a gentle look of disbelief as he waited for a response. You felt like a kid waiting for the right moment to tell your Dad that you left your school bag at home. Perhaps Tim dumped something down the drain while you were asleep the other day.

"The drain? If anything is stuck down there, then it isn't something I know about. To be honest, I haven't been using the sink lately."

"Well, that's odd. You sure?"

You took that as a rhetorical question and watched as he pulled a wrench from his bag. He holds it to the end of the and twists the sink's aerator off of the spout. Your heart pounds. Water flows through slightly better than before, but both of you were distracted by the aerator in his hand. Thumbing through it he pulls at fleshy skin-toned chunks caught inside. They were thin. Miniscule. Maybe he wouldn't notice, yet you definitely did. You recognized what you saw. A brick hit the bottom of your gut and you struggled to stop yourself from throwing up on the spot. It didn't help that the most foul smell was filling the room. Ruben was unbothered.

"Oh sorry, dear. Old food never smells good," he consoled you as you gagged, but you pulled yourself together. That was not food.

There was a very good reason why Ruben suspected the plumbing issue came from your apartment. It did start in your apartment. It started with the man in your bathtub, sitting in a pool of blood and water.

This had happened before. It was common in corpses and the only explanation you could think of. The water ate away at his corpse, causing the skin to slough off. For obvious reasons, it was far more common in suicides, but the necessary parameters were met. It was possible. God, you were so stupid, Of course, that's what had happened. All of the skin must've gotten stuck at some point and backed everything up.

"Well, somethin' got stuck. Ain't no worries though! I can get 'er cleared out in no time."

To a not-almost-murderer, you were sure Ruben's words were reassuring. Who wouldn't want such amazing customer service? Ruben was a multi-faceted hard-working handyman! Perhaps, you'd be clear-headed enough to offer Ruben something to drink. A snack. Anything hospitable. Instead, you were sweating like a sinner in church. Pulling out your phone again, you looked for a distraction. At some point, Ruben would notice that the obstruction was flesh, not food. You had to do something.

Ruben set the aerator on the counter, "I'm gonna check the flow in the bathroom real quick," he told you. Grabbing his bag, he migrated out of your view. The bathroom was spotless, you knew this. Tim had spent hours with you scrubbing everything clean. Still, you worried. What if you had missed a spot of blood? Would Ruben say anything? What if strands of hair stuck to the rim of the tub? Anything could result in disaster if you didn't act quickly. Pushing down your swirling emotions, you stepped outside. Opening your contacts, you prepared to call the only person who could help you. You had to call Tim.

Pressing the call button, you listened to the rings as you waited for him to pick up. It took longer than usual. Maybe he really did sleep sometimes? Even though you swore to keep your distance, you felt yourself compelled back to Tim.

Finally, he picked up with a soft grumble.

"Hey, what's up?" he muttered.

"I need you." you facepalmed as you stuttered. Your words came out romantic and mushy, but it was far from reality, "I mean I need help."

"Oh, did something happen?" his voice came out much clearer, seemingly much more awake than before. You could hear the worry in his tone. It made your heart throb, thinking about how sweet he seemed when you first met him.

"There's a plumber here. I guess something got stuck in the drains somehow? You know?" you hinted, "he's here to fix things and I'm a little nervous. I just don't want to be alone. I don't know what to do."

It was tough to admit, but you prayed that he'd read your hint that you were absolutely f*cked. He didn't respond at first.

"When do you think you can get over here," you asked him.

"I'm already on my way. Give me ten?"

You panicked. That wouldn't be fast enough. Ten minutes was enough time for Ruben to realize what was clogging the drains.

"I really, really need you here. Like now."

You knew it didn't change much. It wasn't like Tim could teleport over here and you didn't want him to feel forced to speed and run red lights simply because you were stressed out.

"Okay. Five?"

"Yeah. I'll see you then," you hung up.

You couldn't leave the plumber in the apartment alone, so you reentered your apartment. You just had to keep him from getting suspicious. A distraction? Once inside, Ruben stepped into the living room, returning from the bathroom. The timing was impeccable.

"How's it looking in there?" you asked him as casually as you could.

"Whatever's in there's, there's a lot of it. Checked out the tub, too. P-trap must've gotten backed up and redirected the water all throughout the plumbing systems. That happens when clogs get really bad. Saw someone do it with water beads once. They expanded all the water and got stuck."

"Oh wow. Hey, I'm really sorry. I didn't even notice something got stuck," before you knew it, you were lying straight out of your ass. Each word came one after the other and you flew with this made-up story.

"You know," you started, faking irritation, "my nephew came over the other day. I was babysitting for my sister - you see. She dropped him off for me to watch him. It was her anniversary. Fifteen years of marriage! Anyway, she didn't want to leave him home alone late at night even though he's a young teen now. You know how kids are these days. He must've messed around without me noticing-"

Ruben interrupted you, eager to respond, "Ah, that explains it. You wouldn't believe how many people shove food down the drain. Trust me young lady I've seen everything imaginable. You ain't got nothing to worry about. It ain't nothing I can't fix."

Well. That worked out far better than you anticipated.

"So, what all do you need to do to fix it then?" you asked him.

"Right now we just play a bit of a waitin' game Need to order some equipment since this is on a bit of a larger scale than I expected," he began to explain. Both of you shifted your head over to the sound of the door opening. Tim was head.

"Hey," he said in a breathy huff.

To your surprise, he came over and gave you a bear hug. Followed by a kiss on the top of your head. Huh? You shrugged it off, assuming the act was part of his plan to save you from imminent doom. Ruben took it as a cue to step outside and call for the equipment he needed. From what he had told you, there wasn't much he could do until he had what he needed. Regardless, you stepped aside to let him pass, yet Tim stopped you.

"Mind if I take a look," he asked Ruben.

Though you were confused, you let him continue. You had called him over here after all.

"Sorry," Tim said, sticking out his hand for Ruben to take, "name's Tim. Nice to meet you. I'm (y/n)'s partner."

Ruben shared his pleasantries as he brought him to the bathroom - explaining the whole food down-the-drain fiasco.

"Yeah, happens all the time I tell ya. You can take a look if ya want ta but I got it all covered."

Tim stopped a second, looking back at you, "Hey babe, can you get a cup of coffee for me, please?"

You gave him a curt nod, turning into the kitchen. Internally, you were absolutely losing it. Whatever he had planned, it better be good. If Tim wanted you to pretend you were in a committed relationship, he'd better get you out of this mess. Especially since you were making him a f*cking cup of coffee of all things. You sighed, but you started anyway. You couldn't use the sink water, so you opened your fridge. It was certainly not what Tim wanted, yet you still pulled out a bottle of premade cold brew from the fridge. If he wanted coffee, he'd have to deal with it.

Grabbing two glasses - one for both of you - you filled them with ice cubes and poured the coffee over. While filling each glass, you became aware of the silence from the other room. At some point, Tim and Ruben had stalked chatting amongst each other. Unless they were whispering, they'd gone completely silent. As you set the bottle down and pick up both glasses, you hear the bathroom door slam shut. That piqued your interest. Hurrying over, you rushed to the other room, trying not to slosh the drink onto the floor. Suddenly, the voices picked up again before you heard a yelp and a crash.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Each thump was short, but quick in succession.

"Tim?" you yelled out and placed the cups on a nearby shelf. Rattling the doorknob, you tried to get inside, but it was locked. Pulling and twisting the doorknob with all of your might, your feet slide forward and your body reels back. That wasn't going to work. Letting go, you bang on the door with open palms.

"Tim! Open the door. I swear to god let me in. What's going on in there?"

As you knocked on the bathroom door, from the other side you heard a final, heavy slam. It was forceful - much more than the ones before it. Neither Tim nor Ruben made a sound. Mouth dry and cotton-filled, you snatched up one of the glasses and chugged down some coffee.

The door opened with a creak. Tim stood in the center, blocking your view inside and leering over you. Putting the glass down, you tried to peer around or over him, but he hid it from you. Your eyes trailed down to his hands, dangling by his sides. Thick beads of blood dripped from his thumbs. His hands were stiller than ever, not even trembling. Unafraid, he knew exactly what he had done. Stepping back, your eyes widened in realization. Tim only came in closer.

You shuffled back until he cornered you. You didn't expect Tim to encase you into another bear hug, this time nearly bone-crushing. Wiggling and squirming in his arms, you tried to break free - or at the very least, glance past him. He refused to budge, smearing his grimy blood-covered fingers all over you.

"Stop it! Let me go. What the hell did you do?"

You knew. You didn't have to ask. Tim remained completely unemotional. No matter how hard you tried to chastise him, it wouldn't work.

"f*cking let go of me, Tim!"

Rather than listen to your pleas, Tim brought his head down to yours and leaned in close.

"I did all of this for you. You asked for my help. Don't worry about a thing. I'll deal with it all, okay?"

He used a bitter-sweet, patronizing tone. Overly sweet.

"Now," he announced while pulling away and finally letting you go, "where's that coffee?"

Brushing past you, he turned down the hallway and grabbed the full cup sitting on the shelf outside the bathroom. What had you expected? You were shocked. Tim couldn't care less, shoving your glass of coffee into your hands. In a daze, you grabbed it from him. The cup outside had become slightly wet from the condensation.

Lying dead in front of you, was Ruben. Tim had smashed his head against the edge of the tub, doing so over and over again until he turned into mush.

Nearly comatose, you sat on the couch, still holding the coffee in your hands. The ice cubes were melted, leaving the sweet caffeine watered down and undrinkable. You refused to take even a tiny sip, but you held onto the cup for comfort.

Tim spent the rest of the morning pacing back and forth throughout the apartment, grabbing trash bags and cleaners among other things. He was cleaning up and getting ready to hide the body, just like the day before, but you were too stunned to do anything about it.

It had been an hour or two since he had done it, but time had flown by in a complete blur as you spaced out on the couch. Right after you had gone mute, Tim guided you to the living room, pulling you by your shoulders and telling you to relax for the time being. How could you relax at a time like this? Tim was unbothered by the fact that he had just killed Ruben, but you were devastated. You wanted an out, not another murder! Ruben was a nice guy. Ruben was innocent. He did nothing wrong and didn't deserve what Tim had done. He shouldn't have died. It was all your fault. You had caused this.

The commotion of Tim dragging out your old suitcase caught your attention. Beaten down and paint scuffed, it had been gifted to you many years ago. A college parting gift. Now, it had been stuffed away in your closet, long forgotten. Tim stuffed a stray article of clothing into the suitcase and finished zipping it up. He had taken it upon himself to pack it up with god knows what. You didn't have the time nor the energy to question him as he shuffled into the kitchen. You hardly wanted to speak to him anyway.

With clanging and banging, he raided your pantry, stuffing a backpack he had found tucked away in your closet. He raided all of your non-perishables, leaving behind everything in your refrigerator. Great, he was robbing you too?

No, that didn't make any sense. Tim seemed damn near obsessed with you. It felt out of character for him to steal all of your sh*t and leave. At the very least, he wouldn't leave without you. Your sick and twisted self would always have one friend for the rest of your life - even if you were against that.

So what's the alternative? You were being kidnapped now?

To be fair, you weren't giving him much of a fight. You sat by idly and watched him scour your apartment for anything of value. If you were a strong-willed person, you could have chosen to bolt out of the door and scream for help. Likely, anyone would help you, but you were terrified to see something go wrong. In fact, the entire past week you could've done the same, yet you hadn't. Instead, you chose to suffer through this bullsh*t. Sure, maybe going to the police about the man in the bathroom would've landed you in prison, but at what cost? You knew you hadn't killed him. John would help you find a good lawyer. You'd serve a bit of time, but you'd get a retrial and an attorney who specializes in wrongful conviction. That would've been the sane thing to do, but you were gripped with fear and could only sit by and watch.

It never mattered what the world thought, only what you and your friends knew. Why did you have to be so stupid? If you did the right thing ages ago, you wouldn't have murder weighing down on your psyche. You wouldn't be so guilty, but now you had dug yourself into a hole.

What were the odds of what had happened to you? It didn't sound believable at all. You'd waited too long and now if you did something you'd sound like a maniac.

Looking around your living room for possibly the last time, you took in what your life was and what you were leaving behind. The coffee table you bought with your college dormmate - that felt like yesterday. The pictures of you and Kari on the mantle from last Christmas - there would never be a new one from this upcoming holiday season. All of it would be left behind.

You wondered how long it would take for someone to look inside the unit. Would all the food in the house rot and mold by then? What would Ruben's corpse look like? Would the building start to smell before someone said something? The thought saddened you. You didn't want to be forgotten. No one did.

Tim plopped the backpack down in front of you, standing proud behind it. Posed with his hands on his waist, he gave you a toothy grin. As you shift your gave to meet his, his demeanor dwindled. Frowning, he spoke, "Don't look so sad. It was necessary,"

He squatted down to meet your height on the couch. He was utterly patronizing. You weren't a child and certainly didn't need to be babied. You knew what was happening and Tim could never make you forget that. Regardless, you couldn't bring yourself to even utter an insult Tim's way.

Unaware of how pissed off you were, Tim quickly fell back into his cheery mood. You weren't impressed, but what were you expecting? A heartfelt apology? You made friends with a murderer.

Was friend even the right word? Only a few days ago, he slept beside you - rejecting your drunken booty call because he cared about you. Only a few days ago, if he hadn't revealed himself to be a terrible person, you might have even wanted to be more than a one-night stand. You couldn't pretend you didn't have eyes for him.

Standing up, Tim grabbed the suitcase and the backpack in both of his hands.

"Come on, it's time to go, now," he said, walking over to the door. He expected you to follow, but instead, you remained still, even holding the f*cking coffee in your hands as the water separated. Did he really expect you to go with him? Chase behind him like a dog? Where could he possibly expect to take you? Was he co*cky enough to think he could outrun law enforcement? Authorities would catch you before you reached the state line. Running away with Tim would give them more than enough reason to frame you for the murders. It was social genocide.

Leaving you alone with your thoughts, he left to bring the bags outside. Finally slamming the glass onto the table, you let your head fall into your hands. You were so f*cked.

Tim returned holding a beat-up pair of sneakers. You didn't resist as he helped you put them on, hurrying to get you out of the door. Why were you letting this happen? Happily, he lifted you to your feet and dragged you along. You took one last glance at what you had and said goodbye to your apartment. You were never going to see it again, yet you still worried about the glass of milky coffee that would curdle on the coffee table.

"I already told you, everything will be alright,' he said as he pulled you past your front door. Next to your car was Tim's. You had never seen it before. He always seemed to just show up.

"Hey, it's pretty exciting, isn't it? Think of all the things we can do together now! Just the two of us. No one can but in unless we want them two. Just you and me," he reiterated as he guided you down to the car. He pulled you into him, forcing you to leave behind another one of your few possessions. As he circled around to the driver's seat, you took in the scent of his tree-shaped air freshener. "Rainbow Rush". It was so strong it nearly gave you a migraine.

Plopping down next to you, Tim started the car. With the revving of the engine, you were blasted by the warmth of the heater.

"Where are you taking me?" you managed to mutter out.

"Had it planned out for a while!"

Enthusiastically, he pulled out a folded-up paper map from his jacket pocket. The edges were worn down and as he opened it he fumbled his fingers with excitement. Leaning over the center console, he shoved the map in front of you. You tuned him out as he pointed at the various annotations all over. In his hands was an oversized picture of the United States, riddled with squiggles of red pen. You gawked at the large red circle he gestured at and Tim's very own bold capital writing. BOZEMAN, MONTANA. What did Tim have in Bozeman, Montana that was so exciting to him? From fixed upon your face, he tapped over the circle.

"-and then I thought, well the population is fairly big here - about fifty thousand - but we can live out closer towards the mountains. And, of course, there will still be people hanging around, but it'll be pretty isolated. We'll practically be alone up there! Also, it's right next to Yellowstone, so if you ever wanted to visit we could fit that in if you wanted. Ever been to Yellowstone before? We can camp out there, too. Wouldn't that be great?"

The little bits and pieces you heard from his tangent were baffling. Where did he even plan to get the money for this sh*t? A mountain cabin near possibly the most treasured national park in the United States? God, he was a f*cking nut job! Was he saving up for this? Did he plan on kidnapping anybody, or did he particularly have an eye out for you? How long has he been waiting?? Was he purposely trying to f*ck you over? Was it part of the plan to get you to come along? You had a million questions and no way to answer them. You recalled when you first met and he had slipped his phone number into your contacts. Was that all a setup?

Glancing over to him, you catch a reassuring look. It made you groan and roll your eyes. Were you seriously doing this? He pushed the map towards you, insisting you take it in your hands. When you refuse, he settles by placing it neatly in your lap.

"You can give me directions, yeah?" he said, lowering his voice, "I guess if you want to, that is?"

Unlucky for Tim, you had no interest in helping him kidnap you, so you sat in silence, arms crossed. He could figure out how to get to Montana himself if he was so serious about going. Feeling a little more confident, you pried.

"What exactly are you getting from this? Do you think you're just gonna find something in Montana waiting for you? I don't want to sleep in the car,"

Tim responded, focused on the road and light morning traffic, "Well, I did say I had it all planned out, didn't I? I've got everything all set up for us."

Mouth gaping open, you argued, "What you bought a house? No f*cking way."

Tim took your tone of shock in a positive light, giving you a pleased grin as he nodded.

Frustrated, you tried to ignore him again. He was being ridiculous, but he was scaring you more and more every time he spoke. You tried your best to focus on something else, but worry was scratching up your insides. It wasn't easy to ignore all of the murders you were now involved in. They were burnt into your memory. Reaching for the stereo, Tim jacked the volume knob over. Cheerful Christmas music blared from the music station. It was already that time of the year. Time was fleeting. It made you sad to be stuck spending Christmas with him, but you tried to ignore that reality.

The next few hours were spent in complete silence. As you promised yourself, you didn't read out directions as Tim drove down the highway. You let him drive and spaced out as you drove past trees and other cars. Instead of chit-chat, you listened in on the hum of Christmas classics. given you had pulled an all-nighter, the music almost put you to sleep a handful of times. However, you were far too stubborn to let that happen.

At some point, the two of you sat in a red light, traffic hitting a rush. Tim reached behind you into the backseat and pulled out a thick blanket as well as a baggy grey hoodie. Though you wanted to stay furious, you lost your inhibitions as he plopped them on top of you. Without skipping a beat, wrapped the blanket around you. Its heavy weight was comforting.

Sometime around noon, Tim pulled into a nearly empty IHOP parking lot.

"You like pancakes?" he asked as he parked. You didn't respond.

"That's okay. You can get a waffle or an omelet if you want. A burger? I'll pay."

Damn right, he was paying!

With the car turned off, the freezing temperature outside convinced you out of the vehicle. Regretfully, you removed yourself from your blanket pile and opened the door. As soon as your feet hit the floor, you were bombarded with snow flurries. Tim hadn't thought to look for your snow boots, or really anything winter-acceptable. You were stuck with your sh*tty shoes and your jeans and long-sleeved shirt. Without anything else to keep you warm, you took the hoodie Tim placed in your lap and slipped it over your head. It was a little baggy and the sleeves were too long, but you simply rolled them up. It would have to do.

You slammed the door behind you.

"Looks nice," Tim stood in front of you. You were jealous of his choice of clothing, far more prepared than you. His stupid winter boots and stupid gloves. Scrunching your nose, you both turned to get inside.

The door to the IHOP opened with a chime. Heat enveloped both of you. It felt wonderful for your hands, which were minutes away from falling off.

You were being dramatic, but still. Despite the empty parking lot, a waitress is standing bored near the register, pulling out two laminated menus to greet you. Nearby, an old couple is sitting at a booth table, and in the kitchen, there had to be at least one cook hiding somewhere.

"A seat for two?" the waitress asked.

Without arguing, you let Tim do the talking. Besides, you were distracted by the waitress's name tag that read "marrisa" in messy handwriting. Across her cheek laid a bright blue band-aid. She looked college-aged, which made you wonder: what brought her out here? No one wants to work at an IHOP in the sticks. It sparked morbid fascination. You wondered if she had a terrible secret to hide, too. Maybe, Marrisa married young? Maybe she killed her ex-husband for the life insurance payout? She just needed somewhere to lie low after stealing his assets.

You trailed onto the old couple in the booth. Maybe they were awful parents, rather than the lovely people they appeared to be. For all you knew, they could be keeping their children locked away in the basem*nt.

It wasn't hard to imagine such dark possibilities for the patrons. Perhaps, they were doing the same for you? What would be the odds of someone looking at you and getting an accurate read on your situation?

Marrisa brushes you out of your thoughts by leading you and Tim to your table. It was a lonely little booth, far away from the old couple with a quaint view of the forest.

As you sat down, the plush leather squeaked underneath you. Tim sat across from you and Marrisa handed you each a menu. The smell of the restaurant had your stomach gurgling. Eggs, sausages, and pastries galore. It smelt heavenly. How long had you gone without a meal?

"And for drinks today? What can I get you started?" she asked as you spread the menu open.

"I'll take a sweet tea, please. But can I get extra sugar packets? I like it sweet."

You blanked out while staring at the menu. You didn't want to keep the waitress waiting, so you asked for a coffee. You never finished yours from earlier, and you were exhausted.

"Alrighty. I'll be back in just a moment for you."

Marrisa left promptly, leaving you alone with your menu and Tim. The awkward silence was horrifying.

"What ya gonna get?"

Shrugging, you shot him a pissed-off glare.Just let me order my food in peace- you thought.

Skimming through the pages, you looked for something to eat. Before you knew it, Marrisa had returned to the table, placing a piping hot pot of black coffee in front of you, and giving Tim his sweet tea. You both placed your orders, Tim opting in for a stack of strawberry-banana pancakes with a hearty side of pork sausage links. She left the table promptly and took the order to the kitchen. Finally tired of the silence, you begrudgingly kept a conversation with Tim.

"So, where are we really going? Are you serious about Montana?"

"Are you excited? I knew you would like it,"

"Well," you trailed off, thinking of something to say as you took small sips from your coffee. It was still far too hot to drink, but you kept nipping at it, "I guess a little bit exciting. Do you have family there or something? What made you choose that?"

"Family? Oh, no, no, no," he shook his head, "not family. I guess, I could consider them that though."

"If not family, then what?"

"Some friends, is all."

He averted his eyes. You didn't bother to do much interrogating.

"Close friends?" you asked as Marrisa returned, placing 3 hefty plates in front of you.

"I guess more like coworkers,"

The two of you gave Marrisa your thanks before digging in.

"I didn't know you had a job," you said sarcastically.

The joke landed well, and he just laughed.

"What kind of work did you do," you asked, cutting into your food and stuffing your face. Tim looked stumped.

"Collaborative work. Hard to explain," he dismissed you.

Murder, he was absolutely a murderer. He'd done it before. Why else would he be so dismissive? You recalled your chat from the other day. He told you about how Saul was this horrible person who got what he deserved. It wasn't clear before, but now you knew without a doubt. Was it the mafia? Something else? That must be how he gets his money,

You could only hope that Tim wasn't a well-known criminal. For all you knew, you were traveling to Montana with the modern-day equivalent of Ted Bundy. Thankfully, that didn't seem to be the case, considering the two of you got little attention in the IHOP as you ate. God, the thought of being arrested at an IHOP. How embarrassing.

"Whatever you wanna call it," you mumbled through bites of food. Shifting your attention outside, you watched as cars barreled down the highway. Small flutters of snow fell to the earth and fog danced between skinny trees. It was beautiful and made you wish that you were back at home, cuddled up by the fireplace and reading a book. Or watching a movie. Anything that placed you back in your apartment, yet that wasn't happening. Now that you were a runaway, your only chance at enjoying yourself would mean getting along with Tim. You didn't see that happening for a while.

Should you just give it up and let it happen? Try and enjoy the road trip while you are here.

From the tree line, a boyish figure walked out. He pulled a sled behind him stacked high with logs of firewood, hatchet slung across his shoulder. As you watched, you noticed that he was staring right back at you, ski goggles and a mask covering his face. He slowly shook his head, dragging the sled over to a car parked along the highway. It didn't seem like a very legal way to collect firewood, but who were you to complain? You were on a double-homicide runaway.

Tim sputtered, choking on his tea. You snapped your head in his direction. He too was looking out the window, seemingly startled by the boy.

"Don't die." you mused.

"Not planning on it," he said between coughs.

Both of you are diverted away from the window again by the voice of an older lady.

"I'm sorry to bother you two. I just wanted to say you are such an adorable couple," her giggle was bright and comforting as she reached her hand out to pat Tim on the shoulder.

"Oh. Thank you, ma'am," Tim said.

His damn Southern manners. He thinks he can get his way out of anything. You were NOT a couple. Still, you didn't want to scare the lady, so you played along, letting her go off about how cute you guys were.

"You know, my husband and I have been together for fifty-two years!" she looked over to her husband, the man sitting over in the booth," Don't ever stop loving each other. Too many kids these days getting divorced," without waiting for a response, she walked her way to the bathroom, nestled in the back of the building and vanished around the corner.

After she had left your view, you whipped your head back to the window. Looking out at the tree line, you realize that the boy had disappeared.

Chapter 5: Bozeman, Montana

Chapter Text

"What was that all about?" you pried at Tim for an answer.

The old lady who spoke to you earlier was long gone - already having returned from the bathroom and seated back with her husband. Only a few minutes ago, Tim had been vigorously choking on his sweet tea. Now, his cup and plate sat empty, pushed into the center of the table. You knew he saw it too.

"What do you mean?" he asked, but his tone made you feel confident that you were right.

"What doyoumean? I know you saw that too - the boy with the goggles and the sled. Did you recognize him? Huh? Why else were you so tripped up about it? Something wrong?"

Tim glared at you with uncertainty.

"Oh, come on, Tim! I know you saw it, that dude stuck out like a sore thumb. For a second, it felt like just us three in the universe. Did you feel that too?" you opened up, a little nervous about the boy's headshake. Tim only denied it.

"If*cking saw you looking at him, you can't lie to me,"

Tim doubled down, wiping syrup from the corner of his mouth with a napkin, "I didn't see anything,"

"Please, don't start anything like that. I know what I saw. So what's wrong with him, huh? You saw him and got all weird about it. Do you know him? Is he one of those coworkers? Why would you be bothered by someone collecting firewood?"

Your stomach dropped.

"Is it... are we in trouble? Does he know you?You know."

"I wasn't freaking out, just swallowed wrong,"

"Hell yeah, you were! It was clear as day."

Tim shot daggers your way, practically scowling with disappointment at the heated conversation. Though you spoke in whispers, a few heads turned in your direction, painted with intrigue. From an outside perspective, it must've been obvious that you were arguing. Maybe they were staring, expecting to see a marriage on the rocks? You caught the eye of the old lady again, sitting in the booth. All she did was wave before giggling to her husband. At least she was on your side.

"If that's not freaking out, care to explain what it's supposed to be?" you asked far quieter this time, trying to detract the attention.

"It's not like I'm making some kind of scene. I was just coughing. It happens. Went down the wrong tube is all. I'm telling you," he leaned in close and matched your whisper, voice barely audible in the noise of the restaurant.

"C'mon, this is like our first date. Enjoy it," he smirked at you devilishly, teeth poking out. You knew better. This was not your first date. If anything, your first date was that night you met him and invited him back to your place. Who goes to IHOP on a first date?

Huffing, you stabbed the last of your food onto your fork and shoved it into your mouth. How insulting. For a moment, you despised how good it tasted. Out of spite, you wanted to hate everything. You didn't want to make good or even mediocre memories with Tim.

Still, you couldn't help but think that Tim had this entire thing planned out from the beginning. He wanted you attached at his hip, but you weren't going to be swayed. It wasn't his fault you were a dumbass, though. You should be running away, not drinking hot coffee in an almost empty IHOP in the middle of nowhere.

"If it's someone you know, maybe we should leave. Please, stop lying and just give me some insight,"

Tim looked defeated, but he still held out, diverting your attention.

"I doubt it's someone I know. Went to school in Alabama. That's far from here. The odds are slim,"

"I guess he looked a little long for an old man like you,"

Unable to contain yourself, you smile at Tim's look of shock. Hell, if you were going to stay sane, you needed to keep yourself happy somehow, right? If he was going to smuggle you along to Montana, he would have to deal with your nonsense. If that meant you were going to annoy the f*ck out of him, he'd have to be okay with it.

Perhaps that was the best plan: keep yourself on your feet until you get a better idea. Frankly, it doesn't seem like Tim wants to kill you. Yes, he seems dangerous, but none of this violence seems directed to you. Chances are, as long as you play along you'll have the chance to escape and call the police in the future. That'll be enough time to come up with a good game plan. Then you can go back to your life and forget any of this ended up happening.

"You ready to go?" Tim asked, placing his napkin on top of his plate.

You looked up from your own, subconsciously scraping at the mess of the egg yolk, watching liquid spill back into place. Coffee still sits in your mug, but it's cold and you've lost your appetite for it. You wanted to go back home, but there was no way Tim would ever let it be that simple. Biting back tears, you try to stop the thought from making you throw up your meal.

Nodding, you let your fork clink against the plate and pushed it into the center of the table. You didn't want his pity if he saw you cry. It would be nothing more than a perverse bastardization of love - even if it was love you had craved. No matter how much you imagine how things should've gone, it wouldn't change anything.

Standing up and scooting out from the booth table, Tim hastily pulled out his wallet, fumbling to pull out a wad of cash. So he really does have money—frankly, a shocker. Half of you expected him to rush you out of the IHOP, shamelessly dine-and-dashing. You hoped he tipped the waitress well.

The door chimed as the both of you left the restaurant. It had already started snowing harder since you had looked outside during breakfast. Now, at least half an inch of fresh snow had already coated the ground, crunching beneath you as you walked to the car. You kept your head down, trying to stop the snow from nipping at your face. At the passenger side door, you stopped dead in your tracks. Footsteps? A sizable trail imprinted in the snow circled Tim's car.

Whipping your head around, you see Tim leaving the building with a smile plastered across his face. He hobbled up to you, hands tucked into his pockets, but you were focused on the footsteps. The car looked completely untouched, guess they were just window shopping and changed their minds. Besides, there was nothing valuable in the car regardless.

"What's wrong?" Tim asked, now beside you.

"Unlock the door, I'm cold,"

Tim does so and you both piled back inside. You waste no time draping the blanket over you, kicking off your wet shoes, and curling your legs up onto the seat. It was reassuring to have some comfort, even though you were only hugging yourself.

Tim wasted no time in starting the car, giving it time to warm up in the cold.

"I didn't see anybody walking up to the car when we were inside,"

He simply shrugged, "Me either. I'm just as clueless as you are on that one,"

Avoiding confrontation, he turned on the radio.

"I'm not stupid. Is there something going on? Are we being followed?"

He sighed loudly, "I'm not hiding things from you, I'm trying to keep you safe. And you aren't stupid, I know."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're a detective, you've obviously got an over-working brain in there,"

"I'm not talking about me being stupid, I mean what are you protecting me from?"

Tim grabbed the steering wheel and began to pull out of the parking lot. The radio started playing Mariah Carey and you angrily switched to something else. You couldn't stand any more Christmas music, it just made you think about how you weren't by your friends for the holiday season. Plus, the stations just played the same sh*t over and over again. You aggressively flipped through the channels, buttons clacking with each press.

"From being hurt, the cold-"

"Not that either and you know that," buttons clacking louder, "something is clearly up, don't lie to me. What am I in danger for? The mafia? Something else?"

Tim broke out in boisterous laughter, his chest heaving as he did so.

"Mafia? I'm not in the mafia."

Pulling your arms back into the blanket, you left the radio to play 80s hits.

"Aw, come on," Tim cooed, "don't get fussy with me! It's okay."

You completely disregard him. Who does he think he is? He didn't have you fooled at all. You could sense that he was up to something terrible, and once you figured out how to fix everything. the first thing you were gonna do was get him locked away for good. He didn't deserve to be moving states eating breakfast with you. Tim was a murderer and that's all he would ever be to you. More than anything, you sure as hell didn't need protection from anyone but him.

Stubborn, you leaned your head against the window of the car. The road is bumpy and you do slam your head against the window every few seconds, but you shove it down and push through the dull throbbing headache. You wanted Tim to understand how infuriated you were with him, but you did not want to give him the time of day. You didn't want to waste any more breath on him. He did not deserve it, nor did he deserve you!

Closing your eyes, you took a few deep breaths as exhaustion raged inside you. It clashed strongly with your already horrible migraine. When did you last get a good night's sleep? Or any sleep for that matter? Did you even sleep after Tim drove you home last night, or did you just endlessly worry over paperwork?

The thought of passing out for the next few hours was incredibly tempting, but the thought of being so vulnerable around Tim sent shivers down your spine. You doubted that resting your eyes for a bit would be that bad - you had fallen asleep in front of Tim before. You supposed if he really wanted to kill you, he had plenty of opportunities already.

Deciding that it would help clear your head for a bit, you chose to take a short nap. Feeling refreshed would help you plan your escape.

You listened intently as the car drove over gravel, bumping around slightly as the rocks crushed under the wheels with sharp pops. The engine was a gentle roar amongst the sound of sleet pounding the car roof. How long had you been out for? Squinting, you opened your eyes as you tried adjusting to the dark. Your head was thrumming in pain, your throat scratchy and sore. You coughed, trying to clear it.

Outside, it was nearly pitch-black, the only light guiding the way was the car's bright headlights.

Panic struck you as you realized where you were. You were still in the car with Tim, but he had not taken the two of you up a highway or even on a normal road. Instead, you were traversing up what felt like an impossibly steep mountain back-road. Your breath growing heavy, you worried in your freshly awoken state that the car would flip over and roll back down the incline.

Hyperventilating, you thrust your arms out in front of you, grabbing onto whatever you could grab hold of.

"Everything okay?"

Tim's words reached your ears minutes after they left his lips. Though his tone was reassuring, it sounded as if he had just woken up too. You realized seconds too late that your left had was death-gripped around Tim's bicep. You slowly latched off of his arms, instead helplessly bunching your fingers around his jacket sleeve as if trying to pull him closer.

"What time is it?"

Great. Nice save.

Your voice came out uneasy and broken. It sounded like you hadn't had a sip of water in days, as if you were pleading for Tim to come to your aid. With the snow and the wet earth beneath you, you could be seconds from falling, but Tim was completely unphased by the view. Taking a hand off the wheel, he tapped an orange glowing light on his dashboard.

"'bout 7 pm. We'll be stopping soon, don't worry. I know you're tired, you've been out like a light since we left.

"Where the hell are we?" you demanded

"We're just on a lil' side street don't worry."

"But what state are we in?" you yelled.

"Mon-"

"Montana? How are we already in Montana?"

In a blind rage, you let go of him and searched for the map he had given you earlier, but the car lurches monstrously and you instantly clung back onto him like a lifeline.

"We've been driving for ten hours. Besides, we only just got here anyway," he said. Taking his hand off the wheel, he gave yours a quick squeeze.

"Nothing to worry about. We'll finish up this hill and take a quick stop for the night."

"Hill? This isn't a goddamn hill. You really got a cabin out in the middle of nowhere? That's f*cking creepy."

"Rude," Tim smiled it off as if you were joking around, "but we ain't gonna get there anytime soon. We'll sleep on the roadside tonight."

Tim must've felt your worry, as he spoke again to reassure you.

"Don't worry. Enjoy it. When's the last time you've seen stars this bright?"

The next few moments felt like hours as Tim finished driving up the hill. The entire time, you clung to your seat, expecting that it would keep you safe in some freaky rollover accident. Once you finally reached the top, the two of you were surrounded by an even thicker forest - save for a small clearing in the tree canopy.

Tim rolled into a slow stop in the clearing and turned off the car, shifting around to look at you expectantly. He looked up with an open-mouthed smile of sheer unadulterated happiness, like a kid on Christmas morning opening up a shiny new toy.

You looked up with him at the slightly snow-covered sunroof of the car. Through the slurry, you could see the stars shining brighter than you ever imagined. Here out in the sticks, no light pollution could ever stop the beauty of the night.

You looked at Tim as his seat clicked back. Laid down comfy, arms propped smug behind his head like a pillow.

"You're gonna freeze to death," you said matter-of-factly.

"I've got more blankets in the back. Some pillows too," he gestured vaguely behind him and stepped out of the car faster than you could respond. Out in the cold, he rushed to open the trunk and came back with a bundle of thick blankets and pillows spilling out of his arms. Thankfully, nothing tumbled down into the wet snow on the ground and Tim threw them into the car. Returning to his seat, he sealed the two of you away from the frigid night.

"Want the thicker one?" he suggested, distributing the pillows and blankets between the both of you.

After handing it your way, the became far cozier and you reluctantly reclined your seat to match Tim's. Placing a pillow behind your head, you laid back and gazed through the sunroof. Stars and satellites twinkled in the sky as the two of you basked in the silence. Together, but separate - the only sounds being your own breathing.

"What do you wanna do first once we get home?" he asked.

Home. It still sounded strange how serious Tim was about Bozeman. To him, it already felt like home, yet to you - you were still a victim. You responded with a whisper.

"I don't really wanna do anything," you admitted.

"That's okay, I can support the both of us -"

"No, that's not what I meant," you said, breathless.

If you were braver, you'd tell Tim off. You'd scream at him at the top of your lungs, throwing a fit like a toddler because you wanted to go home, not to Bozeman. You'd fight for your life like you should, not because you didn't want to work nor because you didn't want to be a housewife. You wanted to work at home in not Bozeman, Montana.

Regardless, what did Tim expect you to do? Work in law enforcement again? After all the sh*t that went down, you highly doubt you'd be able to get a minimum-wage job, let alone use your own name anymore. How long after this would it take for you to be deemed some crazy murderer, or in a better situation reported missing?

A life without working would be a life without freedom. A life without living. No more going out to buy your own groceries and splurging on the nice shampoo.

"I know this is difficult, but it's gonna get better. I promise it'll be perfect, everything you've ever wanted, we'll do it!"

"How could you possibly know that? Really though, you don't see how it feels. You aren't living in my body, being kidnapped by someone you thought was... normal. And you didn't watch them murder someone either.

"I do understand. I know it doesn't make much sense now, but I promise it will. I've been where you've been before. You'll understand someday."

"So are you hiding more sh*t from me too? Really?" you mumbled, sleep pressing down on your eyelids, "you know, you're kind of scary,"

You closed your eyes, trailing off into an exhausted hum as you finished your sentence. To your disbelief, Tim chuckled slightly.

"I'm not joking, you're evil,"

The words only made him laugh louder. For minutes, the two of you sat in complete silence. You nearly fell asleep before questioning him.

"Who the hell are you? And why me?"

"I can't say,"

"Why not? Who decides that?"

However, Tim never responded. You opened your eyes to peek a glance at him, but he was unbothered.

"It's time for bed," he said.

"You're not my f*cking dad, don't tell me what to do,"

Turning over to face away from him, you curled up on yourself.

"I know you're tired. When you wake up we might even be there."

The night passed into morning seamlessly, yet the morning flew by even faster. You woke up to Tim's seat propped up and cleared from the nest of pillows and blankets from before. Tim himself was missing, slipping away some time without you hearing. sh*t. You really couldn't afford to keep your guard down.

It was absolutely freezing inside the car without the heat on, the mass of blankets the only thing keeping you warm. You looked around the car. The windows were foggy and frosted over. Looking out of them was like trying to see through dense fog.

Tossing the blankets off of you, you shuddered. Hopefully, sometime soon, you'd be able to rummage through the suitcase Tim had hastily packed for you. You wanted to dress into something more comfortable, but you didn't feel like asking. Hugging yourself, you clung onto the baggy sweatshirt, pulling it up to your nose. It smelt like him, thick with the musky scent of cigarette smoke.

Bending over, you slipped your shoes on, the extra layer warming up your toes - yet you still longed for a proper pair of snow boots.

The door of the passenger seat opened with aclunk. Immediately, the wintery chill rushed over you. The ground of the clearing was coated in a thin layer of powdery snow, the rich smell of breakfast wafting through the air. Your stomach ached in return.

Since you had slept so much the day before, you didn't get the chance to properly nourish yourself.

Catching Tim in the corner of the clearing, you made your way over to him. He sat in a deep squat in front of a portable grill and a tiny propane tank, each propped up on cement blocks, all of which he must have fit in the trunk somewhere.

How much space did this piece of sh*t have?

Underneath the grill, the snow had been melted away. A comically large pair of tongs clicked together in his hands.

Hashed. Browns.

Sausage.

Egg!

"Morning," he greeted you playfully, snapping the tongs together again. You muttered a short greeting and waddled your way to him.

"What time is it?" you asked.

"Bright and early. Seven-thirty. Made you some coffee if you want any. Should be cool enough."

He gestured over to a small assembly of cement blocks creating a makeshift table. Sat atop it was a steaming metal kettle as well as two thermoses and two paper cups. You walk over, hesitating to grab one.

"Does it matter which?"

"This one's yours!" he smiled as he picked up a cup and handed it to you. It was perfectly warm held between your hands and made your stomach flutter. It reminded you of late-night coffee runs that kept you sane in the fall semesters of university.

"Just how you like it, too,"

With some reluctance, you gave the coffee a precursory sip. Shockingly, it was perfect - as if you had made it yourself. Although, it was as good as instant coffee could get. It was worrying how Tim had made it with the expertise of someone you'd been seeing for years - you'd only known him for a few days. However, your stomach grumbled, so you pushed down the thought, drowning it with another sip of coffee.

Grabbing your thermos, you looked inside to find dry oats. Tim had yet to fill them with water, perhaps waiting for you. He took a hashbrown patty between his tongs and wrapped it in a generous coat of paper towels. With a grin, he handed it to you before doing the same for himself. Then he filled the thermoses and placed the eggs and sausage onto a paper plate.

You shoveled down the food with eager bites, ignoring the piping hot food that burned your tongue. It was worth every second: the hashbrown was perfectly crunchy and equal parts salty, the egg savory and umami in flavor, and the sausage a burst of flavor. You used the oatmeal as a sweet palate cleanser between sips of coffee.

"Busy day today," Tim said in between bites.

"Oh yeah?" you said between mouthfuls.

"We should get there around noon, I can't wait for you to see everything! You'll love it."

Do you even have furniture?" you said, frowning.

"Yup, already furnished. You don't have to worry about any of that, I've got it all handled," he took the lid off his thermos and stirred the oatmeal with a plastic spoon.

You weren't sure whether to admire Tim's persistence or despise it. Admittedly, you'd been on the fence with him and your feelings for him were inconsistent. Not too long ago, you were embarrassingly drunk off your ass and trying to get into his pants. However, some minuscule part of yourself was still stuck on the image of him from when you met him.

Sure, you absolutely hated him, yet you weren't vigilant around him. Here you were getting cozy around him again. You knew it would just hurt you.

"I know it's hard to imagine right now, but I promise I really am looking out for you. Once you see it, I swear everything will fall into place. Just put faith in me."

It was more than difficult to hear Tim ramble about trust, love, and patience. No part of you was here through your own goodwill. If you had any real chance, you would find yourself out of this situation as soon as you could. Unfortunately, it wasn't a possibility. You wouldn't be surprised if Tim tried to kill you given the circ*mstances.

"I need to piss," you interrupted him with the lie, but you genuinely needed an excuse to get out of the unbearable conversation.

"Oh, okay. Yeah,"

Awkwardly, he looked out towards the vast woods surrounding you, almost confused.

"It's fine," you said, neatly placing your food on the blocks, grabbing a stack of napkins, and standing up. He let you leave without a word, so you tread your way through light snowfall further into the forest. Stopping for a moment, you stared out into the void in front of you. It was far from pitch black, but the thick tree canopy shaded the space significantly. Sighing, you made your way through the thick underbrush and foliage. Might as well try to piss since you were going through all this effort.

You continued to hike deep into the woods until you were at least twenty yards away from Tim. There was no way he could see you from this far.

Looking for an adequate spot to go, you find a smaller clearing to the right of you. There were various boulders, many of which looked perfect for sitting. Noticeably, they were clear of snow. You supposed that much of the snow had been trapped in the leaves above you, but as you moved in closer, you realized that it was purposeful.

The area looked like a rather new campsite. You kneeled over their firepit - ashy and soot-filled - and hovered your hand over it. It wasn't hot, but it was definitely enough to concern you. The wind would've blown the ashes away overnight. A chill ran down your spine as you looked around you. You tried to find anything else and spotted some footprints heading in the direction of the car.

You leaned down to inspect the tread. Even an idiot would be able to tell that two people had been slinking around the area. Both sets of footprints differed in size and design, but each looked most similar to hiking boots; thick and with good traction. One of the sets was incomplete, with the right shoe missing a chunk of the tread. Perhaps they'd taped over it or the tread had completely faded?

It wasn't uncommon for people to tape over their shoes. You saw it happen frequently, even for reasons that weren't nefarious. Yet, who would bring their f*cked up hiking shoes on a camping trip?

The other set of footprints was excessively large, around a size fourteen if you had to guess. You were working with someone tall. Most definitely a man.

The observation was interesting enough and could perhaps help you pinpoint branding in the future. You knew you were being watched by someone. The way that masked man looked at you on the side of the highway was more than a sign.

Patting down your pockets, you searched for your phone. You hadn't touched it in ages. Did you even have it with you? You breathed a sigh of relief as you felt a lump in your front pocket. Fumbling, you pulled it out. Kari would be so proud of you right now, taking pictures of evidence. You never dabbled much in forensic photography, but it was never too late you supposed. Although, the grainy photo you snapped was leagues away from the sh*t Kari took. Still, it was better than nothing.

Holding the phone in your hand, you fought yourself. You wanted nothing more than to call the police, but what would you even say? How could they even find you? By the time they tracked your location, you would be on the move.

The best choice in your mind was to wait until you had arrived wherever Tim wanted to take you. Even then, would the police even believe you? While it wasn't as good as an investigation, this was the best you could do to save yourself.

Before slipping your phone back into your pocket, you took the clearest photo you could manage of the firepit, shoe imprints, and snow-free rocks. For good measure, you also took the most pathetic selfie of your life.

You didn't look too bad, in fact, at most you looked sleep-deprived. More worry filled you. Were you not beat up enough to be believed? You looked mostly cared for. You wish you thought about your phone more often. Maybe it would make you think harder about how to escape.

Curious, you pulled your phone out again and looked through it in a panic. You had no new messages since you had been abducted. Your SIM card was gone, you had no data, no service, and no connection to the outside world. f*ck.

How Tim had managed to slip your phone from you, take the card out, and slip it back into your possession was beyond you. You could only hope that your pictures were being geo-tracked and time-stamped.

Defeated, you put the phone away once again, finally pissing as you planned to. Did anyone even know you were gone?

It had been two days. Surely your apartment had been producing a smell. Someone had to have called the police. Whoever Ruben worked for must've noticed their employee fell flat off of the earth. If Ruben had a wife and children at home, they'd have reported him missing, too. All ends led to you.

On the other end of things, maybe Ruben's wife was fighting for your arrest. She had every reason to believe you were responsible, but once you were out of this mess, you'd be able to fight your case. To the outside world, it had looked like you had lost your goddamn mind. All you could do was have hope that you could prove yourself to them. Someone had to be fighting for you. When you arrive in Bozeman, your landlord will hand over the key and recognize you. It would be a blessing.

Realistically, you knew it would be far more difficult than expected. Knowing your luck, nothing had been found at all and no one knew you were gone. Worst case scenario, Tim would rip you to pieces and hide your body in Yellowstone. Anything better than that you'd consider a win.

Once you finished up, you headed back to the campsite. Tim had left your thermos and half-eaten hashbrowns but had begun packing up the grill and leftovers he had cooked for you. You certainly were gone for an embarrassingly long time.

You debated telling Tim what you had seen in the woods. If you did, maybe he'd like you more. Perhaps you could even bring out his protective side?

"I'm ready whenever you are. Your food's probably cold by now," he told you, slamming the trunk closed.

"I'll finish in the car?" you suggested.

He wholeheartedly agreed with you, eager to get back on the road. You threw back your coffee, gulping down the rest of it easily. You grabbed the rest of your things while Tim packed away the blocks your food sat on. He left your pile of blankets and pillows in the front seat, which you were thankful for.

You finished your food quickly. Once Tim was back to driving again, the memory of unspoken cellphone privileges rattled around your brain. With confidence, you mustered up the courage to talk about the neighboring campsite.

"I have something to ask you," you felt a nearly sad*stic pleasure at the thought of fooling him into trusting you.

"Everything okay, sugar?"

If it weren't for the gravity of your situation, you could have possibly found Tim's random influxes of Southern twang and hospitality flattering. Instead, it left you nauseous.

"I saw something in the woods," you started.

Initially, Tim seemed overcome with worry, but you could tell he was holding the emotion in with tons of self-restraint. He looked nearly green as if he would hurl on the spot.

"What do you mean?"

You were convinced: he must know something! He seemed guilty. You thought back to yesterday. The boy in the woods and Tim talking about his old friends. Tim could be pulling you into some horrible things, but you tried to ignore it for your sanity.

"I saw a campsite," relief washed over him, "it looked recent like someone had just been there. I'm worried."

"What are you worried about?" he asked.

"What is there not to worry about? Someone following us?" you stuttered over your words.

"It's okay. You'll be safe with me," he forced a smile. It looked genuine, but you didn't feel reassured at all. Plus, you could tell the real smiles from the fake ones.

"Are you okay? You seem upset," you asked him.

"Oh no, no, you didn't make me upset!"

Tim stopped the conversation dead in its tracks. Since you had no idea how to keep it going, you let the silence stick. Somehow, the radio station was turned back onto holiday music.

"What day is it?" you asked out of the blue.

You hadn't paid much attention to the date and had genuinely lost track of time. Though you knew it had been two days, you wanted to reground yourself.

"Wednesday, December twenty-third."

Sweet. Christmas day on a Friday. Yet, not so sweet, because you were with Tim. It wasn't like you had a job anymore to care about when the holidays were. It would all blur together.

"Do you celebrate? Christmas," you asked.

"Sometimes. It gets busy, though. Not always time for it, but there will be for us."

Busy. Pathetic. Tim certainly didn't look busy. It seemed the entire past week was devoted to you. You hoped he wouldn't expect a gift from you, as you had nothing planned.

"Do you?"

You answered truthfully.

"-but work makes it hard to celebrate any holiday regardless. I don't have to worry about it anymore, though, I guess."

He nodded in response.

"But seriously though, do you know anyone other than me? You aren'treallymoving out here for all those reasons right? I mean you gotta know someone. What about that friend you called for when we first met." Tim tensed in the shoulders. Did you take it too far? Maybe they weren't even friends anymore? Or he was lying? It honestly could be either or.

"Well, you might meet them soon enough. It depends," he wrung his palms over the steering wheel.

"So there are friends in Montana?" you smirked.

"Complicated."

"Are they those coworkers you were talking about? Same people?"

"Again, it's really complicated. But yes. Same people."

"Oh god, hope it's not a cult." you chuckled.

You regretted the joke immediately, but to your surprise, Tim was laughing again. It broke the tension, and suddenly the car felt less small.

"If you want to call it a cult, we'll call it a cult."

This, however, does not reassure you.

Tim was cryptic and wish-washy and it drove you mad. You wish he were honest about who and what he was. When he spoke about the mafia before, he was so dismissive but instead insinuated that he had been involved in some f*cked up sh*t. If someone truly were in the mafia, you imagined they wouldn't care about the finer details. The mafia is still the mafia, even when you omit who you were with. Now, with cults in the picture, your stomach rumbled. Hopefully, this wasn't some sort of commune he was taking you to. Was that what he meant when he said it was complicated?

The thought of Tim as a cult lord seemed silly. He didn't seem like that sort of person, but to be fair, cult leaders purposely try to be kind. You could've been getting ahead of yourself, but it wasn't an easy idea to shrug off.

You honed in on his laughter. It was robust and crackly, a hint of his smoking habits. It was naturally contagious. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling, but you were still nervous. Pulling the blankets up around your chin, you snuggled into the car seat. As much as you didn't want to make it to the Montana house, you were excited for real heating and a warm bed.

"Don't worry we'll be there soon. You can go back to sleep if you want, but you did sleep quite a lot yesterday, so no pressure,"

As much as you wished, sleep was not happening. Instead, you looked out the window and got lost in your imagination as trees whipped past. It didn't take long for the forest to turn into a highway, which eventually shifted into a city, followed by a small town. Throughout, the scenery was mountainous and snow-capped.

You passed through Billings so quickly that you nearly missed it by the time you realized where you were. Tim wasn't interested in any pit stops, so you tried to memorize what the city looked like. At some point, the folded map was back in your hands. You didn't offer Tim any directions but used it to guess where you were. Unfortunately, you didn't get a glance at the Yellowstone River, but it helped you locate yourself.

Before you reached Bozeman city limits, Tim diverted the route.

"You missed the exit," you said, nonchalant.

Tim said nothing in response and continued driving uphill, making his way further up the mountain. You traced the route with his red pen. This was it. This was how you'd die.

As you drove up the service road, you slipped your hand into your pocket and clenched your fingers around your phone. You didn't want to make any quick moves, but if Tim tried something, you would not be caught off guard.

To your disbelief, you stopped at the end of the access road that did in fact lead to a cabin and not a dumpster for your corpse. Tim parked on the road parallel to the front of the house. He instructed you to head inside on your own and that he'd deal with your luggage. He tossed over a single key from the glove box. As soon as you opened the car door, you stopped to take in the view.

The cabin rested on a stilted foundation. Its centerpiece was a beautiful wrap-around porch. It wasn't small in any way, but you had definitely seen bigger cabins before. The roof was a faded evergreen, and many wide windows lined the walls. There were two stories and a chimney sprouted from the side of the building. Half of the cabin hung off the cliff behind it - giving a great view of the forest-filled canyon beneath it, as well as the mountains lining the horizon. It was a gorgeous hidden gem. It had to have been a fortune. How much is a mortgage on a place like this anyway?

Behind you, Tim pulled bags from the trunk and tossed them into gravel. How could Tim afford a place like this? With the stupid map still cradled in your hands, you stepped up the creaky wooden staircase. The porch was aged, but not worn down. The front door was made of frosted glass. You approached it and put your key into the door. With shaking hands, you pop the door open.

It led into the cabin foyer, with a staircase to the right and a coat rack to the left. In front of you was an archway leading to the main floor of the house. A glass table stood in your view as well as a glimpse of the kitchen island. The cabin was surprisingly well-furnished. You didn't figure Tim was the type for home decorating.

Underneath the coat rack was an assortment of men's shoes. When had Tim come out to set all of this up?

Keeping your shoes on, you walked into the kitchen. The light was left on. Absentmindedly, you tossed a crumpled-up food wrapper into the trash, which you found on the counter, and turned the light off. Damn. You were already cleaning up after him.

Chapter 6: The Moonlit Tundra

Chapter Text

After tossing the trash into the metal garbage bin, you wandered around the house, anxious to explore the cabin's layout. Tim was busy outside - taking his time organizing your belongings and hauling your stuff up the stairs. Not sticking around to chat, you looked around.

The first floor of the cabin was simple and open (the dining, living room, and kitchen) all connected with wide archways. Hidden next to the kitchen nestled into the corner sat a reasonably sized half-bathroom and a laundry room. Overall, the design was cozy. There was a strong muddy brown theme throughout the house, highlighted with splashes of navy blue. Sectional couches were dressed up with puffy suede cushions, flung together with stark white throw pillows and hand-crocheted blankets to match the eggshell wall paint. You hummed slightly. You were impressed, to say the least.

On the far side of the living space, an expensive-looking TV sat affixed to the wall. The cabin almost gave a hotel-esque vibe. The furniture inside was perfect, barely scratched or worn down with age. It was like standing in an Ikea showroom or walking into an Airbnb. Not to mention the rustic farmhouse aesthetic that someone's Gen X mother probably picked out - marked by the wood paneling and cobblestone wall surrounding the fireplace. Everything about the decor clicked in all of the right ways.

You frowned as you looked at the front door. The only way up to the second floor was through the foyer, right beside the entryway. As you make your way up the staircase, the wood creaks beneath your feet. Each wooden panel that made the floorboards gleamed with shiny polish. At the top of the stairs, a hallway opened up. It was rather small, but it ran across the entirety of the second floor. Along the ground ran a long runner carpet - an ugly yellow color sporting intricate patterns. Looking forward, you spotted four doors total: two on the left side of the hall, one on the right side, and one lone door at the very end of the hall.

You took initiative and explored, stepping up to the first door on the left. You tried it, but it was locked. You made your way through, trying each one. The next door on the left side was also locked, but the one at the end opened with an obnoxious screech of its hinges.

It was another bathroom - a full-sized one with two sinks, a toilet, and a bathtub shower combo. Beside the shower was a small window. You rushed up to it. Outside an old oak tree swayed in the gentle breeze. A thick, strong branch reached towards you like an open hand.

You fiddled with the latch and propped the window open. As the glass pushed out, you felt the cold air sting your face. It would be a squeeze to try and smuggle yourself out. You looked down. Chances were, you wouldn't fall unless the porch roof caved in under your weight. If it didn't, you could safely climb into the tree and make your way down the side of the house. You closed the window and latched it shut.

Tonight. Tonight could work, if you thought you could be ready by then. Scanning the woods outside, you thought it over. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay a bit longer and catch your footing. Tim seemed to already know the area well, but you could barely remember what roads he turned to get here. f*ck. It looked like you'd be playing along for a bit longer.

The bathroom door screeched again as you exited. Only one door remained to look through and to your surprise, it opened. It swung loudly, the noise far less atrocious than the bathroom door. It was a simple room with only a bed, desk, and dresser. Beside the bed was a closet, already filled with clothes and boxes.

Curious, you looked through the dresser - empty save for a few socks. You plucked them from the drawers and tossed them into the closet with the rest of Tim's junk. Walking your way to the bed, you plopped down on it and stretched, letting yourself sink further into the memory foam mattress. It was heaven compared to the cramped car.

You began thinking over your escape. You didn't have much of a plan, but you'd figure it out soon enough. You held so much faith in yourself that everything would simply fall into place, directly into your lap. Your job was to wait for the right time.

Tim called your name from the doorway and you shifted to look up at him.

"Door was unlocked?" he asked.

You nodded in response and stood up. Tim held your suitcase by his side. You made your way next to him and grabbed it, wheeling it inside the bedroom, hauling it onto the bed, and unzipping it.

"What did you even pack in here anyway?" you glanced over for a response. When he doesn't say anything, you resume shuffling through the suitcase. Tim's face held concern.

"Something wrong?"

He looked down at your feet.

"No. You can take your shoes off inside. Please."

Brows furrowing, you didn't expect Tim to be so picky. Since he asked, however, you complied. You had to do what he asked, sticking to what you've got until you have an out. Your primary goal was to convince Tim that you were with him through and through. Using your feet, you slipped the shoes off, stepping on the heels of the sneakers. Tim offered to take them to the foyer, but you rejected him, insisting on doing it yourself.

Before making his leave, Tim mentioned preparing a stew for dinner, which immediately made your stomach grumble. There was nothing better than piping hot deliciousness to get through the harshest winter days. You hoped Tim could cook well.

In the silence, you rummaged through the suitcase, pulling articles of clothing out and neatly placing them on the bed. From its contents, it appeared that Tim tornadoed through your apartment, shoving his hands into your drawers and grabbing whatever he thought necessary. He had managed to pack a few of your thinner sweatshirts as well as a thick overcoat that you wore on occasion. You really only brought it to work - because it looked nice, but also because it made you feel like a badass.

Time didn't pack many shirts, but he did pack nearly every single pair of jeans you owned, as well as a mishmash of undergarments. To your relief, he skipped over your sexy stuff by pure happenstance. Or luck. Both worked. Instead, your most comfortable clothes were all there.

Taking the opportunity while you had it, you closed the bedroom door and stripped Tim's pullover off. You changed into a pair of joggers and rummaged through the closet for a long-sleeved shirt. A bright evergreen turtle neck stood out to you. You pulled it out and shucked it off of its hanger. Giving it a sniff, it smelled freshly washed. You threw it on.

Picking up your tennis shoes, you made your way to the staircase. The carpet in the hall saved your feet from freezing on the wood and muffled your walking significantly. You took note of that fact and carefully sped down to the foyer. Tim's figure was noticeable in the kitchen, prepping large cuts of carrots and potatoes, the sound of the knife on the cutting board gnawing away at your soul. It felt so strange to be next to someone so dangerous.

You bent down and neatly fixed your shoes next to the others. The tennis shoes looked surprisingly at home next to them. Tim hadnot packed your boots.Rain, snow, hiking - any outdoor shoe of yours had been completely ignored, left in your abandoned apartment.

You glared at his hiking boots with spite, when you noticed something peculiar. Fourpairs of men's shoes: three pairs of tennis shoes, and one pair of hiking shoes.

You adjusted all of the shoes to line up together. They were noticeably different in size. It was one thing for the hiking boots and the sneakers to be a size or two off, but the variability in all of Tim's shoes made no sense to you. One pair was multiple sizes larger than the others, and one was absolutely trashed. The rest were rather well taken care of - including Tim's hiking boots. Leaving Tim's boots behind, you snatched up the other two sneakers and raced to the upstairs bathroom. You held the trashed pair of shoes and the very large ones in your hands.

Your face was hot and sweaty and you started to regret putting on the turtleneck. You resisted the urge to slam the bathroom door closed behind you, once you made it to the end of the hall. Instead, you locked the door and jumped up and down on the balls of your feet. This was a lead!

Pulling down the toilet seat, you sat on top of it. From the depths of your pocket, you snatched out your phone and placed it on the counter. You opened your camera roll. Starting with the larger pair of shoes, you held one in both hands and looked it over. Underneath it, you looked at the tread. The shoes were worn - impeccably clean. The shoelaces were bright white and the rubber trail around the shoe looked like they hadn't even seen the light of day. It was a simple pair of Vans, but didn't make the same pattern as the massive pair of boot trails you snapped photos of. Peeking inside the shoes, through faded ink, you say a faintfourteeninked into the insole.

Though you didn't have solid proof, they looked nearly the same size. Sadly, there wasn't anything conclusive to go off of. You snapped a few pictures of the Vans and set them down, grabbing the other shoes in turn.

They were barely holding themselves together, holes littering the sides. It was falling apart from the tread and insole. Some silver duct tape held the fabric together and... is that blood? Little red splatters. While the shoe also wasn't the exact same pair you had spotted earlier, the similarities were much more convincing. This could not be a coincidence.You have to be kidding me!

You added the duct-taped shoes to your photo album and carefully walked downstairs, sneaking the shoes where you found them. Luckily, Tim wasn't paying you much attention.

Your newest discovery made you feel fluttery, but the smell of a real, warm meal probably added to that. You couldn't believe the sight of Tim using a crockpot, but that was beside the point. You would take your losses for the day as you walked into the kitchen. Tim hadn't packed anything interesting for you to do, so you sat down at the kitchen island. You watched from one of the barstools as Tim continued making dinner. The smell already started to waft throughout the cabin. This would be a great was to prevent rousing any suspicion.

As Tim turned around, he jumped slightly.

"Oh. Where'd you find that?" he mumbled.

You frowned, confused, before looking down, "The shirt? In my closet. I thought it was pretty," you explained to him.

Tim brightened up, "No, no. It's totally fine. Of course, you can wear it. Is there anything you want to eat before dinner? It'll be a while before it's finished."

Tim offered you a wide selection, listing off quick meals he'd be willing to prepare for you. You settled for a snack, instead.

"So," your eyes trailed around the room as you started, "This is the place, huh? It's beautiful here,"

"You really think so? I thought you weren't gonna like it. You didn't seem super excited about it. I mean - I'm just so glad," he babbled on for a bit, appearing genuinely relieved that you liked the place.

"I'm curious though - why are there so many rooms? It's just the two of us, wasn't it expensive?"

The question made Tim fidget. He didn't answer directly, instead silently offering you a can of co*ke from the fridge.

Within a few hours, dinner had finished. Tim generously scooped the stew into your bowl. It smelled rich with spices, the potatoes soft and crumbly to the touch, and the stew itself was thick like gravy. You thanked him and he insisted on eating on the couch together. He tossed on a comedy and you threw a blanket over yourself as he lit up the fireplace.

Though it was early evening, it was already pitch-black outside. Through the cabin windows, a trickle of powdery snow fell from the sky. Your face stared back at you through the glass. The large windows gave a beautiful view during daylight, but nighttime made it difficult to see. You caught yourself in a staring contest with your face, half expecting to see someone creeping through the back porch. It sent chills.

Tim had to be friends with the owners of the property. It was the only story that made sense. Yes, it had to have been their shoes in the entryway. Were they waiting for the perfect time to ambush you? You really were unsure what kind of sh*t Tim was getting you into - for all you knew, you were a sacrifice for some weird culty sh*t. As you ate, you reminded yourself to lock your bedroom door and windows. You didn't want to risk it, even though you'd be sleeping on the second floor.

The taste of stew and the hot fuzz of the fireplace made you grow tired. You questioned the possibility of Tim drugging you, but thought it to be unlikely. He already had you where he wanted. If he truly wanted to drug you, he would've done it earlier this morning.

Once you'd finished, you placed the empty bowl on a nearby side table. Leaning against the couch's armrest, you let your eyelids droop.Don't fall asleep. Don't let your guard down- you scolded yourself.

"I'm gonna go to bed," you announced out loud.

Tim was in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and swallowing a pill. Through your tired haze, you took note of this. Another lead. You needed to take a picture of the prescription bottle. Maybe it had some important information?

Tim slipped the bottle into the pocket of his jeans.sh*t. You'd need a plan on how you'd get ahold of it. Tonight, you'd try to wait until he fell asleep. You'd search the medicine cabinets and see if he kept any older bottles in there. If not, you just might find yourself sneaking into Tim's room.

You muttered a "goodnight" and headed upstairs. Away from the fireplace, the chill of the night got to you. You'd have to rely on extra layers of blankets to keep you warm through the night. Unbothered, you don't change into pajamas. Rather, you immediately lock the doors and windows and flick on a night light beside the bed.

It was one of those projectors - a small dome that made the ceiling of the room become graced with constellations and stars. The room was illuminated in its brilliant white glow. Slipping under the covers, you stared up at the designs, trying out to make any constellations you might have recognized. Mostly, you admired the images as they shifted in front of your eyes. You tried to fight back your fatigue. If you passed out, chances were you would not wake up in the middle of the night to snoop around. You definitely didn't want to set an alarm, not willing to risk waking Tim up as well.

What if Tim wouldn't go to sleep? What would you do if he pulled an all-nighter, or if he clocked out late and you couldn't keep it together? You needed a backup.

Thinking it over, you could go down in a few moments. If you got caught, you'd play it off as thirst. Who would argue with something as natural as that? But that was the least of your worries. If you got caught searching for Tim's meds, then you'd have to think of something smarter.

You're startled by the sound of the front door flying open. At least, that was what you assumed it was - you didn't exactly have sight of the entryway downstairs. Muffled voices spoke, not quite yelling, but not speaking in a regular tone of voice. They sounded far from casual. You heard thumps stomping up every step as someone came upstairs, notably trailed by someone behind them.

In a panic, you ripped the comforter off and shuffled onto your feet, deciding what you should do next. Weapon or hide? The dilemma rang through your mind. You tried to turn off the nightlight, but your shaking hands couldn't understand your brain's instructions. You fumbled. f*ck it!It stays on.

Hasty, you threw yourself onto the floor and rolled under the bed. You tried to move your body far from view and steadied your breathing. Someone tried the door to the bedroom, but it wouldn't budge. The mystery person swore behind the locked door before they rammed against it. You tensed. This was it, you were gonna die.

The wooden door stood no chance, slamming open under the weight. The hall light flooded into the room.

'I'm tired of dealing with your bullsh*t. Where is she?"

The voice was stern and serious but marked by a young cadence. It was light yet strained - as if they yelled often. You closed your eyes, praying they wouldn't take notice of you hiding under the bed. An involuntary yelp is drawn out of you as you're dragged by your feet. The amount of force you were pulled out with was terrifying. For a brief moment, you made eye contact.

A shaggy brown-haired boy with hazel eyes and a medical mask over his face stood above you. He looked furious, his face sickly pale. Deep bags rested under his eyes.

Before anything else could happen, the boy was ripped away from you. You scrambled back until your spine rubbed against the bedframe. A tall man was leaning against the door frame - another stranger. He was unbothered by the fight, watching intently as Tim pinned the smaller boy against the wall. It wasn't outwardly easy to gather who was winning, but Tim certainly had a height-weight advantage.

The boy fought hard against him as they both threw punches at each other. The stranger was surprisingly resilient. The sounds of clothes scuffling, strained huffs of exertion, and body falling over body filled the room. At one point, Tim had the boy held underneath him. He straddled his waist and forced him up by his jacket before violently slamming his head against the ground. The boy beneath him let out a guttural grunt.

"Stop it, you're gonna kill him!" you yelled out as the back of his head hit the floor again.

The thought of watching another person die by Tim's hands was unbearable. You were going to do something about it. From the doorway, the taller stranger chuckled. You were unable to tell if he was laughing at your desperation or at the sight of Tim and the boy fighting. He refused to look in your direction, fixed on the fight.

You expected your screams to go one ear and out the other, but to your surprise, Tim stopped dead in his tracks. The younger man was still in his grasp, lifted from the floor with blood dripping from his skull. Tim looks ashamed but is instantly hit in the jaw by the man beneath him.

"f*ck - calm down,"

You screamed again, but the boy didn't let up. His punches connected with Tim's face multiple times before he was dropped to the floor. Tim manages to grab hold of his wrists. Everything turns still, heavy pants filling the silence.

"Don't you get it? She doesn't love you. You can't even get her to sleep in the same room as you. And you auction off my stuff to her? You really need to get over yourself," the boy twitched underneath him, his face contorted into a mixture of pure rage and adrenaline. Tim stayed quiet, holding onto his wrists.

"Well, I think it's clear who lost today. I told you, Toby. You can't change his mind on this. Sleep on the couch tonight and when Tim breaks his little play-thing like he always does - like we always do - everything goes back to normal. We'll go back to our issue in Texas, maybe. No need to rush." the man in the doorway piped up. When no one spoke, he continued.

"I've let you two fight it out. Tim won. Don't forget to clean up the floors afterward, too."

Whoever they were, you were unsettled. You suddenly remembered that Tim had plenty of opportunity to be far crueler than he had let on. Tim would not be breaking you in any way. You would be escaping.

The boy underneath Tim, whom the man in the doorway referred to as Toby, spoke up.

"Can you at least make her take my clothes off?"

He seemed to shudder underneath Tim. All three of them looked over to you and you're flooded with embarrassment. What a nightmare. You waltzed in and put on this poor guy's clothes! You felt gross and ashamed about it for many reasons, but particularly for sharing clothes with now two murderers. Avoiding eye contact, you stared at your socks.

"Well, maybe you should've kept your door locked," Tim lectured him.

It was bizarre. Tim carried himself differently around them, you could tell. It was like peeling an orange to open up a gruff and vile surprise. He spat out pure hatred and distaste, but he had a point - everyone else had locked their bedroom doors.

What were you getting into?

Everyone scattered quickly and the frenzied atmosphere died down once Tim closed the bedroom door and separated an outraged Toby from you. Through the walls, muffled footsteps and a jagged sprit of spray bottles sounded. Toby and Tim worked together to clean each other's blood and dirt off of the floor. You weren't sure why Tim helped - perhaps it was a silent way for him to apologize. An apology to Toby, for dragging you into their f*cked up little home. You digressed. You wouldn't be here longer anyway.

You trekked your way to the closet and ripped Toby's ugly green sweater over your head. You thought about its musky firewood scent - the scent of someone who wasn't a smoker, but sure as hell lived with one. Nicotine managed to burrow its way into the fibers and taint the smell of the lavender fabric softener and lemony detergents without permission. The smell clung to your mind like the tar byproduct of the cigarette. It was joined by a hint of something else. Eucalyptus?

The room wasn't safe from the Montana winter. With the sweater gone and thrown haphazardly into the recesses of the closet, the cold didn't hesitate. It raised goosebumps along your arms and torso. You unzipped your suitcase again, feeling as if you were walking on eggshells. It had been snowing consistently for a few hours now. How much would you be trudging through if you tried to leave? You scoffed. Fine. You'd wait longer again, but you might as well scout around the house.

With three dangerous men instead of one, things were going to be difficult. What choice did you have? It's either kill or be killed.

From the suitcase, you pulled out a random hoodie. It was baggy and stiff from being neglected for years - and stunk like a closet - but you wiggled your upper half into it. At the very least, tonight was proof that Tim would protect you from the other men in the house. He was far too obstinate to let you go. With the shady sh*t going on between the three, you assumed jealousy and possession ran deep.

It wasn't an everyday ordeal to beat the sh*t out of your friends for something. At that point, what kind of sh*tty friend are you? If Toby had no remorse while beating Tim's face in, what would he do if he got his paws on you? If you didn't act soon, you worried Tim would be pulling Toby away from your corpse.

As you sat on Toby's bed, you hoped to hear the sounds of an empty hall. To your disappointment, footsteps still creaked past.

Out of boredom and curiosity, you moved over to the window on the wall behind the bed. You peeked out of the semi-sheer curtains. The distant moon and the front porch lightcouldn't illuminate the forest surrounding the cabin, but you could tell that there were mountains of snow beneath me, powdery and fresh in the deserted area. You stared out at it, almost mesmerized by the heaps of snow forming icy dunes that shift and travel with the wind. When had the woods become so intimidating? You couldn't help but sensesomethingout there, between the tree trunks and underneath the bowing branches, slinking and slime-balling their way through the shadows.

Eyes squinting, you tried to will the darkness to bend into something tangible. Nothing happened. Sighing, you pulled back. There was nothing out there.

With your attention pried away from the window, you sealed the curtain tight. Your gut and intuition were yelling at you to keep them closed tonight. You got the distinct nagging feeling that there was some voyeur out there wanting a peek at the new girl who just moved in. A watery acid pricked at your eyes as you held back tears. Fear had you gripped by the balls.

You turned around in a single swift movement to catch sight of the dead man on the bed. You doubted that he'd be waddling away anytime soon.

From the depths of your stomach, you let out a visceral scream. The sound came out involuntarily; guttural and throaty at the same time. It was so distant that you could barely recognize it as your own. It took mere seconds to recognize the body as Saul's. You could spot it anywhere.

He didn't lookfreshly dead, or decayed. He wasn't a skeleton. He wasn't much of a corpse. He was worse - if that could even be possible. The body mimicked that of the corpse in your car from a week ago. It looked nearly the same. It was a hallucination you had before you even knew Saul existed and far before you had found his body. You were convinced that this was him.

All that was left of Saul was black and gooey - viscous like corn syrup. Death seeped into the mattress and duvet. Your heart was racing, but you couldn't force your eyes off of him. You heard the familiar thumping sound of someone bounding up the stairs and a recognizable voice, but you were stuck in a staring contest with Saul's visible eyeball: dead but so alive!

You were unsure why he chose to stare you down, both of your eyes locked together. Still, even in death, he was damn good at it. When would the staring contest end: when you looked away or blinked?

The bedroom door slammed open with a clatter and you're knocked out of my trance. You looked over to catch Tim in the doorway - because who else would it be?

"What is it? Are you okay? I heard you scream," he asked through heaving breaths, arms splayed open.

"What? You can't see that?" you whipped your head over and pointed to the bed. No Saul seeped into cotton threads. No semi-liquid corpse stained anything. He was gone just as fast as he had appeared,this time not lacing everything with the smell of death as he did to your car. The bed was as clean as it was before and just as neat.

Your face fell even more, ready to slam against the wooden floor with a thud.

"I- I could've sworn..."

Tim walked in and closed the door behind him. Before you could even process what had happened, your head was nestled in his collarbone and his arms wrapped around your shoulders. You were stuck in his grasp like a fly trapped against double-sided tape.

You were unable to stop the gasping breaths and light sobs that followed, soaking his shirt a pathetic wet gray. You didn't ask for any of this - so why did you feel as if you were being punished? Saul was a crime you had not committed. It wasn't fair.

You didn't want to live here in this godforsaken cabin. This city that was not your city, stuck in thissick mockery of purgatory. Ever sincethis pity of a man landed his lonesome selfon your doorstep,bear-sized and unassuming, your life started its downward spiral. You were the unconscious pilot of your own jet aircraft and no one could stop you from crashing into the f*cking ground.

Perhaps, you wanted to staya single woman, struggling through her midlife crisis, deciding that maybe that MLM she heard about really was the way to climb up the totem pole to success. The problem was, all of this wasn't what you were meant to be.

You were supposed to be imprisoning murderers, not becoming one! You were supposed to be witty and ambitious like you believed yourself to be - not this pathetic uncouth mess with a hideously growing dependence on your kidnapper. This life Tim was forcing you into, it was all growing like pustules on your back - ready to pop.

You were too tired to fight away Tim's affections and couldn't pry his body from yours. You didn't resist as he spoke a soft "c'mon" and led you out to his room. The room you had been desperatelyavoiding- first on the left from the stairs. It was a minute detail, but you noticed that the hall did look significantly cleaner after all of the scrubbing. If you hadn't seen it, you would have never guessed that blood had once sunk into the floor and carpet.

As Tim guided you across the hall, he allowed his open palm to trace up and down your back while whispering his disgusting sweet nothings. Admittedly, they did help you feel better in the most infuriating way. He was not supposed to make you feel better or happy. He was supposed to make you feel miserable, but the solace he provided refused to leave you suffering all alone.

Tim's room was far nicer than Toby's, arranged with organized piles of clutter and too many shades of brown to count. Somehow, the shade made up the color of his duvet, sheets, and pillowcases all at once. Near his bed, in the corner of the room, was a standing space heater, humming with warmth like a toaster. You imagined that all of the appealing aspects of the room were chalked up to Tim expecting you. Above the bed rested a window that looked over the forest drop-off behind the cabin. Garland lined the sill and bright red and green Christmas lights strung under the ceiling in obnoxious swoops.

"Here," Tim spoke as he pulled back the thick duvet, "lay down, you'll feel better."

You couldn't help but give in and hurriedly rushed under the covers, slamming your face against the cold cotton pillow.

"Let me get you something to drink, you want some water? I can go get you a glass,"

Without too much thought, you nodded your head. As long as you didn't have to leave the coziness of his bed, everything would be fine.

Although the silence from Tim's absence filled your mind - your half-asleep state made the minutes pass like seconds.

Tim returned quickly with a short, glass cup. You listened to the thrum of the wind sliding up the roof and pulled the blankets closer to your face. Tim sat the water down on the nightstand. You couldn't bring yourself to move your hands from the covers, so the drink sat untouched. Your throat screamed in protest.

At the sight, Tim slipped into bed beside you. There was plenty of space for both of you on the double bed, but he slyly snuck his torso flush against your back. You could feel his warm breath against your neck and ear, humid and sticky.

"You wanna talk about it?" he whispered.

You grunted in response. Though it was obvious that you wanted to pass out right there, Tim continued to talk your ear off.

"I used to see some of those things too. It can get better, you know," he said.

He certainly piqued your interest, but you didn't respond, letting him ramble.

"If you stay with me, I promise I can make them go away,"

Promise. How could he promise? It didn't help that what he said was a helluva promise. This was no light thing to mess with. The problem was with me, he couldn't take that away. He couldn't just fix something like that.

"I know you don't believe me, but I'll do anything to prove it to you. It'll just take time. You don't have to, but then the hallucinations probably won't go away. It's fine though, we'll get through it together, right? We've gotten through all of this together so far, haven't we?"

A mind reader, since when? Nevertheless, whatever Tim's stupid idea was, you would not be doing it. You'd take the hallucinations. Likely, Tim would try to convince you that killing people "made the pain go away"or whatever murderers used as an excuse. You were not here to kill people.

You imagined Tim wasn't opposed to the thought of that. He seemed unbothered by whether or not you did what "it" asked you to. At least that was reassuring. You probably-maybe-wouldn't have to kill someone on Tim's behalf. Whoop-de-doo. You thought back to Tim's medication bottle. Maybe he was schizophrenic or something and his solution was medicating you?

"-Christmas Eve tomorrow morning. We can do whatever you'd like, you just have to ask."

Christmas Eve. What did you want for Christmas Eve? What you wanted was for Tim to tell you what the f*ck was going on. That's what you wanted.

Things didn't seem to come to you that easily, though. You wanted to know exactly who you were living with. You wanted an attached résumé and letters of recommendation from at least 2 previous employers or educators. You wanted to know what the hell they're planning to do in Texas once Tim rid himself of you and left you out to the dust. You wanted to know who they worked for and why you had to get involved with it, or maybe why Tim was so stuck to you like glue.

Tim wrapped his arm around your waist and slipped a warm hand just under your shirt. He held his palm against your stomach like a heating pad as he cuddled against you.

That really was a good question: "why you?". He rubbed his thumb in small circles. You didn't know how to feel about the action. You knew how you should feel. By all means, you should be enraged, far from content with the situation.

"I missed you," he said.

"I've been here the whole time, idiot," you mumbled into the duvet.

Tiredness gnawed in the back of your eyes. You wanted nothing more than to close them, so you did.

"I'm not gonna take your Clozaril, or whatever it is you're using," you randomly guessed. A pleased hum sounded from Tim's chest.

"It's not Clozaril. Good guess though. It's Haldol, not like any of them make much of a difference, do they?"

"I don't care what it is, I don't want it. You keep them for yourself."

Tim agreed with you groggily. You could hear the smile.

Together, both of you fell closer and closer to sleep. The room filled with the sound of each other's steady breathing. The later it got, the further the temperature outside dropped. You passed out before you heard the familiar noise of Tim's deep, grumbly snoring.

The morning brought forth a chill like no other, speaking to your skin like a temptress and persuading you to hold off waking up. You pushed your morning later and later. From behind you, tiny rays of sunlight fluttered through the slanted window blinds. You didn't notice the body missing from behind you until the door to the room swung openwith a creak. The smell of distant breakfast wafted from downstairs and filled the room.

You let your eyes open slowly as Tim walked up to the side of the bed.

"Hey, come get your food before it's all gone. I can't stop them from eating it all,"

You stretched out on the bed and let your legs tremble under the movement. Tim refused to wait for you to follow and immediately turned to head downstairs. While getting up, you wondered if it was him who made breakfastor one of the others. You were not happy about either choice, but you didn't want to starve yourself. You needed as much energy as you could to stay level-headed.

It took tremendous courage to will yourself out of bed and out of Tim's room. If you could have it your way, all interaction with the others wouldn't exist. You cautiously made your way into the hall and downstairs, as if making any noise would result in death.

The world moved to a standstill when you landed in the foyer and finally into view of those in the kitchen. All three of them sat on barstools propped at the kitchen island. Their plates were fixed with eggs, bacon, and fat perfectly rounded latkes topped with basil and dark red sun-dried tomatoes. As you approached, you noticed that Tim had already set out your plate. Still steaming hot and exactly to your liking sat a cup of coffee.

The stare-down was intense and mixed. Along the counter sat Toby, the tall man, Tim, and your seat - in that exact order. Toby still wore a disposable face mask with his fists clenched and placed firmly on the table. It looked like he started to eat his breakfast, but stopped once you entered the kitchen. He seemed truly disgusted by you. The tall man looked at you with a co*cky, all-knowing grin as if you were sharing a secret. Like Tim's, his coffee was pitch black death staring back at you. Tim beamed up at you with wholehearted enthusiasm, excited to see that you had managed to drag yourself out of bed without his help.

Pulling the chair back, you all listened as its metal legs scraped against the floor. Sitting down was just as awkward, even with the lack of velociraptor noises. You sized up the food in front of you, pretending to find it more interesting than anything else in the room. Tim cleared his throat with a nastyahem.

"Maybe we should redo our first impressions, how does that sound?"

You craned your neck to look at him, only to see all three of them staring you down with their mixed looks.

"Ah! You're absolutely right!" the tall man exclaimed while wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.

"This here is Toby," he said, patting Toby on the back, "and I'm Brian,"

Tim seemed rather pleased with the introduction. You focused on Toby's angered silence.

"You see," Brian started up, "Toby here thinks you're a threat. That you shouldn't be trusted with the likeness of our faces. That's why he's wearing that stupid mask around you,"

You kept quiet, now toying with your food as your stomach grumbled. Though you were starving, it felt a bit odd digging in while Brian was making backhanded comments.

"What if she escapes, what'll you do then? All of you," Toby said, punctuating with a heavy roll of his shoulders.

"Well, she already knows Tim's face dipsh*t-"

"No! You don't get it. When she escapes, Tim will lose hispublic spaceprivileges. He won't be able to go anywhere. They'll all know who he is,"

"Okay, fine, but tell me when anyone has ever gotten away?"

Tim stayed awfully quiet throughout the ordeal, opting to listen in while he sipped on his coffee.In some ways, he did seemslightlymore human than the others, but you couldn't place why. You gained the courage to take your first bites of breakfast while Brian and Toby argued.

"It's not like anything is being done anyway, he's just keeping her here like some free range ch-" Toby stuttered a few times, starting his sentence over and over. Even with his mask on, you could see the frustration in his eyes.

"Free range chicken, blah, blah," Brian finished for him. It only make Toby angrier.

"Hey Tobes, maybe you should just take up the whole oversight of her, then,"

"That will not be happening," Tim shot the idea down so quickly, that it was as if he'd expected the suggestion from a mile away.

Through the bickering, you were sure that any second you'd fall flat onto my plate and die, smothering yourself in the grease-covered meal. Not out of boredom, but instead from the outstanding way that you did not fit in. You were a mismatched puzzle piece: both the wrong color and the wrong shape.

You did your best to ignore your current predicament. They treated you like they owned you. You were an object, or maybe a trophy, that one of these boys might have kept on their shelf. One day, your value as an award would grow too outdated - too dusty.

What do you do with your trophies when you're done with them? You remember once seeing one donated to some dingy thrift store while you were still a teen, polished and standing tall, still grasping onto its engraved plaque reading:BEST IN SHOW.You feared the same thing would happen to you. Someday, you wouldn't be so shiny and impressive anymore. You'd just be tossed out and tarnished.

Tim's latkes oozed oil into a thin puddle on his plate as he joined the argument. You didn't want to be included in their arguments. More importantly, you didn't need Tim to stand up for you. The only person you needed was yourself.

"I have my Christmas wish,"

Chapter 7: What Do We Say to The God of Death?

Chapter Text

As the sound of talking stops, Ishift my attentiontowardsall three boys. Brian is the only one that continues to shovel food off of his plate and into his mouth. The atmosphere convinces me that he must be scraping his fork against the ceramic on purpose. It makes my toes curl.

Tim looks up at me with his own fork in his hand, tiny bits of tomato still clinging to the prongs. There's a slight smile on his face, but it comes from somewhere genuine, unlike Brian's (which is entirely painted with devious intention). Toby is a completely different story - his eyebrows caving downward into a deep frown. He looks completely horrified.

"Wish? What are we, Goodwill?" Brian says between bites.

Tim ignores the statement, keeping his gaze locked to mine. His ability to shut out Brian is admirable. It almost feels as if we are the only two people in the room, or perhaps even existence - if it weren't for Tweedledee and Tweedledum behind him.

I don't have much of an answer to the question. Wish, wish, wish. Do I have a wish?

At this point, Brian's plate is practically empty. Out of panic, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"I want you to tell me the truth."

I try my damn hardest to stop my voice from wavering, but beneath my false confidence, my tone still shivers.

I hear a strangled snort come from Brian as he scoots his chair out. The stool squeaks against the wood floor and his plate and fork clang together as he picks them up. I watch as he circles around the island to put his dishes in the sink. Tim's gaze redirects to his breakfast. He looks physically sick and on the verge of vomiting all over the counter.

Embarrassment pools to my face. How could I ask something so ridiculous? Evenif I can keep my composure, my face is still burning. Brian looks back at the two of us, staring and absolutely giddy at my predicament.

"How puh-pathetic," Toby pipes up from the other end of the kitchen, mask still on, food still untouched.

"Oh come on, man," Brian speaks, "you can't really be that surprised can you? I mean Jesus whaddya expect from our old stick-in-the-mud over here?"

Brian walks up to the island and leans up close against it.

"Hell, why don't you just takeyour mask off, too? Don't youwanther to be scared of you - while she's still here at least? This is your only chance to have any fun"-

"This isn't about fun! Duh-du-don't, don't you get that?"

Brian makes a tsking sound with his tongue, "daaaawww. You hear that? Not about any fun. I'llfill you in on a lil' secret here, [Y/N], Toby here isn't usually all this timid, you know. Tim, too. In fact, they're both as much of a sick freak as you think I am," he lets out a robust laugh that falls on a deaf crowd. None of us find it as funny as he does.

"Toby made a lil f*ck up not too long ago and is on thin f*cking ice. And, well, it turns out you can't fix what's broken so you gotta make some adjustments"-

"Stop it!"

Tim looks up for the first time, directly at Brian, and practically pleads with his eyes for the new argument to end.

"-When physical pain doesn't bother you, you gotta find somewhere itreallyhurts."

"I just can't believe he huh-hasn't told her ah-anything! You haven't told her anything?"

Tim's fork is suddenly forgotten, now resting over a pool of oil. He glances over at me before turning back to Toby and Brian.

"I told her most of it," he trails while speaking, looking like an absolute fool. I scoff - actually scoff. He looks like such a child. It makes no sense - one day he acts like he's god, the next like a son being scolded for not doing his homework.

"Most isn't enough, is it?" Toby yells, not a stutter in sight.

"You can't tell her everything-"

Brian barges in again, now looking more irritated than co*cky. Both of his palms are pressing into the table and he leans his face into Tim's.

"I don't know what you expected, but this isn't some honeymoon moment that you get to have. This isn't yours, so I suppose there are gonna have to be some restrictions around here, cause this just ain't working out. She doesn't get to just come up in here and eat breakfast at the table and go sledding down the hill in the yard. If you're gonna keep a prisoner, you need to act like it, 'else I think Toby and I won't be so restrained'bout the whole ordeal."

Somehow, Brian leans even closer into Tim's face. Tim stands up in retaliation, finally getting a grip.

"You won her that room, go give it to her." Brian nudges his head towards the stairs.

I don't need any more cues to the point, so I waste no time in flying off of my chair and swiftly walking away. I don't need the sh*t from the other two, but I definitely don't need to risk being forced away. I want to at least pretend I have a choice - for my good and theirs. It'll all work out better, this way, regardless. I'm clearly an unwanted visitor for Brian and Toby. Asking such a stupid question was a ridiculous thought, to begin with. I don't know what I was thinking. In fact, I'm starting to doubt I even was thinking.

I might have well said"tell me everything","tell me why you kill people", "tell me why you won't admit that you kill people".It never would've worked out and I damn well know that.

Tim doesn't follow me as I rush up the stairs, my feet pattering on the wood that likes to groan. As I reach the second floor, I second guess myself and decide to head into Tim's room instead of Toby's. At most, the choice is an afterthought. I don't want to see any more dead bodies and I'm partially convinced Saul's is still hiding in Toby's room. Toby can keep his room. This was never my house, nor will it ever be.

Once I enter Tim's room, my mind starts nagging:this is your chance,

this is the opportunity you've been waiting for

take it (steal it)

keep it

I can't stop the downpour of obtrusivethought.

My breath catches in my throat. I can't breathe, but simultaneously, the air has never felt so clean,so crisp. I run to Tim's nightstand and pull the drawer. It flings open and I have to catch it from completely sliding out of itscubby. With shaky hands, I fumble to puts it back in. Inside lays an old blue inhaler, a few loose coins, the marked-up map of the U.S., and a slip of paper.

I snatch the paper into my handso quickly, that my nails scrape against the bottom wood panel and wipe rows into a layer of dust. Struggling, my fingers tremble while trying to grab the paper's tiny edge. Eventually, I manage to unfold the bundle.

0782

The numbers stare back at me dumbly. Next to it is some sort of math problem he tried to work out, simply a collection of numbers and x's to my eyes. I fold the paper back up as similarly as I can and toss it back inside the drawer. I close it and twirl around the room, trying to find my next place to look. In a haste, I drop to my knees and look under the bed. Besides more dust, only a pair of yellow slippers hide underneath - so worn and tattered they had lost all of their fluff.

As I pull up to look somewhere else, I slam the back of my head on the edge of the bed with a heavythwack. I curse out loud, only offering myself a second of head-holding before scrambling up to my feet. I look around again. His room is so full of nothing. I rush over to his dresser - my last hope. I pull open his top drawer. It's filled with an assortment of socks, boxers, and a few pairs of exercise shorts with shockingly small inseams. I push a few of his clothes to the side and hear a tiny rattling sound. Combing through some socks, I find an orange prescription bottle.

f*ck, yes.

I twist the bottle around to read the label. To my surprise, Tim's name is not onthe medication. Instead,Tobias Rogersis printed across, smack above the name Haloperidol. Inside are dozens of round, white pills. Thinking back to the argument not too long ago makes me frown.

"Toby made a lil f*ck up not too long ago and is on thin f*cking ice."

Is this their sick, f*cked up version of punishment? Taking someone off of their meds? Why the hell is Tim even using these? I shove my hand into the deep pocket of my sweatpants, searching for that heavy weight of my phone, hoping that I didn't leave it in Toby's room the other night. I haven't thought much about the device lately as I have no clue where my charger is - or if I even have one. Only for emergencies, and now is a good time.

My phone screen is freezing cold from being stuffed away all day. At first, I panic as I try to turn it on. Is it dead? I hold the power button and slowly but surely it flutters back to life. My stomach churns while I wait for it to load. I'll have to unlock it, then let it take its slow ass time to load some more, and then hope that I can snap a photo in time before Tim barges in and catches me red-handed.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," I mutter to myself, flexing my foot up and down in a state of pure anxiety.

Every few seconds, I break away to look toward the door, expecting to see Tim standing in that doorway.

"Please, please," I beg as the phone finally turns on. I punch in my password as quickly as I can and open my camera to take an obscene amount of pictures: of Toby's name, of the drug, of how the bottle looks. Once I hear thumping coming up the stairs and through the corridor, I practically throw the bottle back between a pile of socks and close the dresser drawer with a gentle thud. Trampling to the bed, I manage to sit down as the door starts to creak open.

Tim shuffles through the doorway with an aura of shame and guilt surrounding him. He closes the door with a click and looks over to my form on the bed.

He smiles once he sees me. I don't smile back.

"The lights aren't on," he says. He walks to an outlet and fiddles with a plug. In the blink of an eye, the room is full of twinkling LEDs.

"I like to keep them on almost all the time. Christmas lights are my favorite," he comes to the edge of the bed and sits down beside me. The weight of his body makes the bed creak. The only other noise is the monotonous hum of the heater, sounding like the buzz of a bee.

"Listen, I know that you heard more than you probably should have-"

Tim trails off again like he did last night. I know that I have to be listening to his words, I have to be paying attention, but I can't focus on anything. My mind plays an endless repeat: Tobias Rogers, 0782, Tobias Rogers, 0782...

Sometimes, Tim's rambling cuts through.

"It's a lot more than I think you can handle right now,"

"You're just going through so much,"

"You're a lot more... delicate than you think you are!"

"You still know, I'd do anything for you,"

My head starts to pound, he'll go on forever if I don't stop him.

"You'll all get along eventually - I know it. I mean they're like," he stutters, struggling to the words out, "they're like my family and you: you're everything to me,"

The pounding in my head only seems to grow louder and smash harder. Liquidy, runny snot starts to trickle from my nose. Immediately, I slap my hand to my face. My eyes are bone dry and I haven't had any issues with congestion at all, but I snot all over once Tim is here with me. My pride is hurt for a moment until I look down. Red splatters paint my lap. Slowly, I pull my hand from my nose, and liquid dribbles down my face and chin. Blood covers my hand.

Tim, who hasn't been paying attention, stares at the lights on the wall.

"-I mean, I know you've only been here for a bit, but you like it though right? It's great isn't it?"

"sh*t!"

"Wuh- what?" he shoots up from lounging on the mattress and turns to me. He instantly notices my dripping nose and reaches his hand out to hold my shoulder.

"Ah, sh*t, come here. Let's get you to the bathroom."

He tries to help me up, but my legs buckle under me. He could easily carry me or force me to the bathroom, but instead, he eases me back to the bed.

"I'll be right back,"

I barely notice that he's left the room until he's come back with a small hand towel and holds it up to my nose. I can sense that he's trying to talk to me. His voice reaches my brain through a thick, dense fog, but it doesn't process. It's just there.

He keeps the towel firm to my nose. Over time, I flop into his arms, his chest the only thing supporting my body. My ears start to ring and I'm certain that any moment the world will fade to fuzz. Past him, over his shoulder, another figure stands in the room. I panic, but my body is so unbearably sluggish and so goddamn unresponsive that I think all I can do is make pained terrified moans. Tim only perceives my fear of the pain, while unaware that Saul - as I've never seen before -is standing in the corner, practically melting.

At least, in the beginning, I am convinced that the figure is Saul. Soon enough - which feels like eons - Saul turns into a bastardization of the young boy in my bathtub, and then Saul again (a pile of indistinguishable mush), and then, then-

Sophia?

So-phee-ah.

I start to sob. I can't feel or even really hear if I'm actually sobbing or whining or making any sound at all, but I can feel the river of tears sliding downs my cheeks and again the familiar feeling of Tim's wet shoulder. My body feels stiff, my thighs sore as if they've already been tensed for ages. I begin to remember, again, why I am even here.

All this time it feels like I've forgotten. It's silly to even think of forgetting any of it. The people. Not just my job, or my life before. I've left something more important behind. There are people waiting on me. There is someone out there expecting me. Maybe it's John, or Kari, or anyone else, but maybe it's Sophie. I can't remember if she knows me enough to forget me, but what if? What if I am letting her down. What if - somehow - she thinks that I'm the reason that all of this happened? Her family, her uncle - her family.

My eyes widen into dish plates at the prospect. Tim didn't just kill Saul, didn't he? He did it. He didallof it. It clouds my mind like a plague. I try to justify it - even though I know Tim is in no way a good person with or without this.

It's impossible. It has to be.

Well, hedidn'tkill her. That makes it better right?No, it doesn't.

I can't recall if she had a brother or sister, either. I'm terrible.

Her room was painted with blood. Why? Why would he do such a thing? How could he be so vile? For what purpose?

I have no choice but to suffer in the arms of this monster. I have no way of moving. It's as if my body completely shut down, I don't know how to turn it back on again, or how to work it. An intense ringing feels my ears. If I weren't so horrified, I would maybe chuckle over it: it sounds exactly like the movies when something crazy happens - likea bomb explodes or someone important is dying. Perhaps I am dying? Maybe this is the whole point. Maybe this is one of those "acts of god" they were so obsessed with in the past.

Maybe I am meant to die, but that doesn't mean I want to.

At some point, I definitely whine a mumbled blur about my ears -oh how much they f*cking hurt. Frankly, I'm too tired to recognize anything that's going on. I just feel pain and buzz and sorrow all over. My eyes want to droop, but I don't want to go to sleep yet. That's too pathetic of a way to go. Not embraced in the arms of a murderer, not today.

I drift in and out of consciousness for the next... while. I'm not sure at all how long it has been, why I'm still in pain, or if I'm even still alive at this point. When I am awake, I'm thrown back into a dizzy haze, and the rare times I'm not, the sharp pain in my skull is so blinding, I don't need my brain to blind my eyes to hide what's going on. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. I have not a single clue in the world if Tim is ever here during this time. Not a clue if I've eaten, or drunk, or pissed even once, but that's assuming that hours have actually passed and that I'm not just dreaming or imagining things.

"-When physical pain doesn't bother you, you gotta find somewhere itreallyhurts."

I wish that were my case. I wish that I was not dying here in this bed that isn't my bed with this pain that is so intense and so indescribable, but I gotta get through it. I gotta make it. I can't let that f*cker get away with it.

At one point, I think someone tries to make me take a pill, but I can't do it myself physically. I have no choice or control over my body and I have no recollection of the turnout. I just lay and wait and lay and sleep and pass out. It's hell. It's limbo.

On another occasion, I feel the weight of someone - or something - laying on my legs. I ignore the implications and let the pressure comfort me. Though now, all I feel is pain, it is a tiny, minuscule distraction that keeps me as sane as possible. It fills me with memories of a beloved pet curled up by my legs, or a weighted blanket pressing down on me, or the hug ofa dear friend.

In these moments, I consistently long for a friend. Companionship makes you feel so full and satisfied and like the world makes sense, but times like these feel frigid and desolate. I can only feel the weight sometimes, but the joy is never more present than now, not even when I've touched or felt before - not the feeling of sand between my toes, or wind on my legs, or even the feeling of fluffy pillows with my hand.

I've never felt more present and more distant than now.

I think, therefore I am. I must be here because I am here. I must be real because I think I am. I must not be dead because I don't really think of myself as dead. I want to be alive and things that are alive can think. My thoughts are the judge, jury, and executioner. I hurt, therefore I am. Dead things don't feel pain, even if they want to. Pain is my testament. Pain is my witness.

Jellyfish don't die. In a weird way, they simply cease to exist. Maybe I am way off and this entire time I lived as a pseudo-jelly-human without even knowing it, but jellyfish don't die because they don't have brains.

I think, therefore I am.

What happens if the thud, thudding doesn't stop? If my head doesn't finally crack open but throbs forever. What do I do then? If Timdidlove me, is he trying to do anything? Is he just sitting and watching? Is he not even here anymore? Did he crack and decide to kill me? I'm sure his friends could convince him to do so. It wouldn't be hard.

Chapter 8: The Hairpin

Chapter Text

CW: VERY MILD NSFW/SUGGESTIVE THEMES

It lasted three consecutive days. Three days of blindness. Three days, pitch black. I can hardly quantify it.The feeling was a constant source of fear. Most of those 72 hours were spent wondering if death was the correct answer. I doubted.Maybe death was supposed to be such dark viscous stickiness.Now, curiosity wraps around my neck like a noose or a thick, scaly boa constrictor.Does it all just end?

In its own terrible way, it was a coma.Some people in comasclaimthey could hear and smell and feel everything the entire time. Husbands could feel their wives' gentle caresses on their opened palms, mothers could hear their children in a slivered moment of hope; I, for a short yet significant amount of time, thought it was a coma. My instincts knew I was wrong. It was far more than that.

It was a sickness. Whatever had caused it, it worked with diligence.I could feel it sucking the oxygen from my lungs.At thestart, it came over me frantically, as if it needed me to die for it to survive. It felt selfish and greedy and unending.

After some thought, the beginning was definitely the worst. It was unprecedented and at the time unimaginable. There was no way of expecting the unexpected and certainly no way of anticipating "false death". I had no way of being completely sure I wasn't dead until it finally stopped.

The rest came easier. It wasn't very much better and if it ever happens again I'llprobably piss myself, but I adjusted to the quiet overtime. I would not allow death, so I had to wake. I would not let death be an option, no matter how much she asked.

On the third day, the day I finally woke, life returned as suddenly asit disappeared. No one had been waiting by my side, not even Tim, and Ihate myself for even expecting his company. I hate myself even more for wanting thecompany.My eyes were crusted and dry, but nothing could top the desert that my throat became.

After picking the flakes and bits from my tear ducts, I was immediately blinded by the Christmas lights still blinking and strung around the room, even though Christmas had come and gone. Once the eye strain had disappeared, I saw for the first time. The room looked no different, except for the extra blankets splayed over me. Somehow, itwas still frigid underneath.

I looked beside me at the nightstand, the same one that I distinctly remember rummaging through before. On top, right beside the lamp, was a small box wrapped in shiny green wrapping paper and tied with a velvety red bow.I knew that the gift could only be mine and it could only have come from Tim. Knowingmade me terribly giddy, but it also made me sick to my stomach.

I don't want to be happy here or with him. To any sane person, the idea makes sense. Of course, I don't want to be stuck living with a murderer and his friends, but the other option seems too simple. The other option feels easier, even though I haven't gotten far, to begin with. When watching movies or even hearing all of those first-hand accounts of kidnappings we always assume we understand everything. We always assume we'd have theone-upon the situation because we'd know better than to fall for this cliche or that cliche - because we're different -yet here I don't feel like I have any sort of insight. I feel lost.

I always thought I'd see the end in clear sight, but this cabin is like backrooms that go on forever. There is no discernable end and here I am now, debating staying with a murderer, while the other half of my heart rips in the other direction.

I sit straight up on the bed with my legs tucked under the covers, waiting for something to happen. My head is still lightly throbbing andthubbingin the silence of the room and my throat stings, but I can't get myself up to do anything about it. I have been sitting and waiting for at least a few hours and I haven't heard a single creek outside the door. It's as if the entire house had been abandoned while I was gone.

I can't stand hiding away for any longer, so I finally untangle my legs from the covers and place my feet against the wooden floor. The box rests on the nightstand like a beacon. Myfingers fold around the smooth paper. It makes gentle crinkling noises as I pull it towards me and get a closer look. It's pleasantly wrapped with perfectly creased edges and the paper is snug tight against the boxinside. Written in sharpie directly on the paper is:

TO: Y/N FROM: TIM

written entirely in capitals. I set the box in my lap and use both hands to unravel the ribbon. The knot falls open with ease and I waste no time in peeling back strips of gift wrap. All that's left is a black opaque container made of some sort of cardboard and etched with intricate designs.

I pull the lid up and shimmy the bottom half down. Inside, between sheets of crinkledpaper, is a narrow hairpin with a razor-sharp tip and an ornate swan emblem at the base. A green jewel rests in the eye of the swan and it glimmers when it catches the light. The pin is about 4 inches long and made of shiny silver. I hold it in my palm. It's freezing to the touch. I sigh and place the hairpinback onto the table.

The gift is underwhelming obviously, but what did I expect? A plane ride home? A note with $10,000 that says "IM SORRY FOR RUININGYOUR LIFE"? Waking up in a hospital bed?

I manage to stand up with wobbly knees. Now is as good a time as any to see if anyone is home. I have to keep going, I can't keep thinking about giving in. I keep brooding over what I saw before it happened. It's a little unclear and fuzzy, but I remember seeing Saul and Sofia and the man again. I'm convinced it must be a sign. Sofia is the reason I have to keep going and whoever is out there for me... they're giving me visions and they want me to live.

My feet patter against the floor as I head to the bedroom door. Before opening it, I press my ear against the wood and strain to listen. I can faintly hear humming, but I can't tell where it is coming from. I was planning to enjoy my time alone before sh*t hits the fan again, but it seems I have no choice. I push the door open and step into the upstairs hall. Early morning light streams through the window. I realize that the sound is coming somewhere from Toby's room, so I beeline in the other direction and head downstairs. My stomach lurches with each creek, but as soon as I make it to the main floor, I find the house to be empty except for us two. All I have to do is find their painkillers.

I find the 1st-floor bathroom and scour the medicine cabinet, but it's full of empty prescription bottles and other useless junk. Looking under the sink also does no good, as it only has bleach and other cleaners. Not wanting to go to the upstairs bathroom quite yet I lean further into the cupboards under the sink.

MILD NSFW THEMES

Facedown and ass up I search until my fingers scrape at the back wall and find nothing. I grunt in frustration. Tim's lies only seem to add up. If they've only been here for so long, how the hell do they have so many empty and half-used containers?

"Oh damn. Thought you died-"

Brian's voice comes from the doorway behind me, sparking fear through my entire body. Instinctively, I go to sit up and turn around but manage to slam the back of my head against the bottom of the countertop.

"f*ck," I whimper as I cradle my head in my hands. Not too long ago, when rummaging under Tim's bed, I had managed to do the exact same thing. The slight soreness had yet to go away.Upon turning around, Brian has the same sh*t-eating grin on his face.

"What the hell is wrong with you? I didn't even know you were home. Pervert."

"I'm used to going around unseen. You learn sooo much about others when you do. And oh,come on, that's perverted to you? I'll have to talk to Tim about neglecting you in the bedroom-"

"Absolutely none of that will be happening. Just tell me where you keep your meds so I can go back upstairs and rot in peace."

"I suppose I can oblige for a favor."

I stare at him deadpanned.

"Fine. He never liked sharing anyway,"

The fact that Brain even suggests the thought of sharing makes my face heat up in anger, shame, and embarrassment. I had already slept with Tim before, but that was before I knew about the whole... well. The entire situation was positive and it reminds me of happier times - what things could've been if sh*t hadn't hit the fan. I know nothing about Brian either, but the thought of him being added to the mix taints my recollection and I shake my head just thinking about it.

If Tim did like to share, would he have wanted to try? If he had gotten the chance, could it have happened differently?

MILD NSFW THEMES END

Brian starts into the hallway and I rise to my feet as quickly as I can to follow. It's difficult and leaves me lightheaded, but I manage to prevent losing him. He leads me back upstairs to the toilet right past Toby's room. I had been in here not too long ago to take pictures of their shoes in an attempt to track my kidnapping.

Brian enters the room and turns on the bright white lights. My eyes squint shut as he grabs a bottle from the cabinet and hands it over to me. I takethe Tylenol dry and Brian leaves.

I plan to return to Tim's room and sleep the pain off, but I run straight into Toby. Deep purple bags hang under his eyes and he's so pale he could easily pass off as sick. I'm close enough to smell the thick smell of weed lingering on his clothes.

"Were you... smoking?"

He looks at me unbothered and ignores my question.

"You're up?"

"Uh, yeah. Is that a problem?"

"You should be toosick to be standing. Are you sure you don't feel even a little dizzy?"

Toby isn't wrong. I feel like I've been hit by a truck and even though I probably shouldn't be standing it doesn't seem like it should be an issue at all.

"I don't think I'm contagious if that's what you're wondering."

"No, it's not," he says.

"What is your problem? I never did anything to you,"

"Listen, just keep to yourself. I don't wanna deal with you,"

From beneath us, three staccato bangs rap on the front door. The sound carries easily in the near silence of the house and instantly alerts Toby and me.

"Is Tim home?"

"Shut up,"

"What?" I ask perplexed.

Toby lifts a finger to his masked mouth in response, not uttering a word. He slinks over to his bedroom window and peers out, turning away immediately. He rushes past me and starts out the door.

"Stay here. If you leave this room I'll actually kill you,"

"Wait what? What's going on,"

Before I can even finish, Toby is already leagues down the hall. Another set of knocks bound through the house as I look out the window myself. I cannot see the porch, but in the driveway is a single patrol car.

My chest fills with dread. For what possible reason could they be here for? Did they track me down as a wanted murderer? Are they here for something stupid one of the others did?

I rush towards the hall, completely ignoring what Toby said. No one has answered the door and the knocking continues, now more urgent. Not far away from me, the officer yells from outside.

"Sheriff's department!"

I crouch down lower to the floor and waddle towards the part of the hall overlooking the staircase. As long as I'm quiet, I'll be mostly out of their view. If anything happens, I can always slip into Tim's room, just a few feet away. From my vantage point, I can see the front door and part of the foyer. Toby is nowhere to be seen or heard.

To my surprise, Brian stumbles into view wearing a black apron tied snug around his body. He shuffles to the door like a baker who accidentally left cookies burning in the oven. He pulls the door open and peeks out gingerly.

"Sorry, I was preparing chicken for dinner and my hands were covered - oh! Sorry, for keeping you waiting officer what seems to be the problem?"

The officer is a stout, bulky man many inches shorter than Brian himself. He holds a notebook in his left hand and the other is wrapped firmly on his belt, which carries a pistol and a taser. The man seems slightly surprised by Brian's appearance but immediately readjusts his stern demeanor.

"Is this the McGraw residence?"

"Yes, it is, unless there's been some changes I don't know about," Brian jokes, but the officer doesn't return a laugh.

"Sir, I believe you are aware of Melissa McGraw's recent disappearance?"

"Her... her what?" His tone flattens.

"Would you be able to explain to me why you are currently inside Melissa McGraw's frequented vacation house?"

"Well, I'm sorry I just. I hadn't heard she'd gone missing." Brian is convincingly beside himself, but the officer doesn't budge. Brian wipes a few stray tears from his face before continuing. "We're really close her and me. I'm her godson. I've been having a rough time finding a stable job and place to live and well, Melissa let me stay here for the time being."

"Melissa's family have yet to mention a godson. What's your name sir?" The officer pulls a pen from the rings of the spiral notebook and flips to an empty page. He stares Brian down and gives the pen a click.

"My name is Brad Newman. You know, Melissa's family - we aren't on the best terms. She probably hasn't told them I'm here. I wasn't planning on staying here for longer than a month or two-"

"Mind if I come in, sir?" The officer interrupts.

"No, no of course not. Make yourself at home."

Melissa McGraw? Another lie to Tim's book of idiocy. The house is stolen and Melissa - whoever she is - is probably dead. The flood of information barely confuses me at this point. The basis for Tim's love is a lie. Tim's display of affection is a lie. Everything Tim does always has to be a lie.

The officer doesn't take off his boots before entering. Instead, he lets a slurry of snow and dirt melt onto the floor. My view of the two of them will be gone in a second as they move further into the house. I'll risk being caught, but I need to hear what they're saying.

As Brian leads the officer into the kitchen, I creep down each step one at a time.

"Interesting that you and Melissa were this close, for her to lend you her house and all. How did you not know that she's been missing for nearly two weeks?"

I cringe at even the slightest huff of my breath. Finally, at the end of the stairs, I peek my head out and look to the left. Brian and the officer are in the kitchen. Raw chicken breast really is laid out on the counter along with various spices and a meat cleaver. The officer makes his way toward the window overlooking the back of the house.

"You sound far from home. Where you from, son. Arkansas? Louisiana?"

"Georgia."

"What business Mrs. McGraw got with some southern boy?"

"I told you I'm her godson."

"Really though?"

Brian keeps a level head throughout the confrontation. It's obvious he is incredibly clear-minded under pressure and an even quicker thinker on his feet than I anticipated. He pulls names and places out of his ass like he's practiced a script and plays the role of a perfectly new persona that's just charismatic and vague enough to not throw himself under the bus. With both their backs turned, I chose to stay put. The officer is admiring something on the back porch and seems like he might demand to look out there any second.

From the darkness to the right of the kitchen, just in front of myself and just behind Brian, Toby appears. It takes everything not to jump too loudly from being startled. Much like myself, he's crouched low to the floor, almost crawling. Clutched in his hand is a hatchet.

His hand grips tightly around the handle and he seems to almost be shivering. He moves at a confident pace.

I can't bring myself to pull away.

Toby rounds closer and closer to the man before he finally springs up from the floor and wraps an arm around the officer, bringingthe hatchet to his neck.

Hatchets aren't the best for slicing. Toby knows that andhacks away at the man's flesh with jerky repeated slices, each time the skin gets caught on the end of the blade.

It happens in an instant. 30 seconds. Maybe even 15. Toby was... effective. A functioning machine.

Though I couldn't see it all, though I shouldn't have seen any of it, the world seems to cusp around my ears till the only sound left is gentle, succinct ringing. In. Out. In. Out.

The officer slumps in Toby's grip and he lets him fall to the floor with a thump. Where the man's throat should be is a hinge - a crater where Toby carved his body away.

Brian's facade drops and he grabs the blood-stained notebook from the officer's loose grip. He flips through it.

"We can-cuh-can'tstay here," Toby says.

"I know, I know. You gonna tell him?"

"Brian, I am nuh-nuh-not the only one-" Toby starts repeatedly shrugging his shoulders, seemingly against his will, he stops talking, but Brian doesn't show any interest in the change in behavior and simply continues.

"Fine, we'll both talk to him about it, but next time you can deal with his bullsh*t on your own."

My ears fill with blood and my hearing distorts. It sounds like my head is being held underwater. Toby sets his bloody hatchet on the counter and the metal lets out a ting that whines in my ears.

"I'll give it to the fool, he was up to something," though Brian talks quietly, his voice seems to echo.He throws the notepad into the trash and leans down to grab the man by his ankles.

I pull back from the edge of the wall and turn, lettingmy back hit flush against it. There was no hesitation in either of their actions. How could they just do something like that? Why?

"Help me lift," Brian says from the other room.

An unwanted sob escapes my chest as tears start to run down my cheeks.Why couldn't I have stopped them? Why did I just watch like a coward?

I hold my hands up to my ears, fingerslike ice against my flushed skin. I notice a figure beside me. Looking up like a deer caught in headlights, I make eye contact with Toby. The sleeves of his jacket are rolled up past his elbows. His hands are painted red with blood, stopping at his wrists like gloves. Some pools at his fingertips and drips down to crash to the floor.

Toby's hand reaches out. His fingers dig into my shoulder.

"Hey, that hurts!" I yell. He doesn't listen and rips me up to my feet. He walks around me and leads me into the kitchen, pushing his other hand harshly into my back.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You're making my job hell, you know that?" He gives me a heavy shove and my body heads straight down. I close my eyes and reach my hands out to catch my fall, but my hands collide with a warm, wet mess instead of cold wood. My cheeks lands somewhere similar. Brian lets out a hearty laugh. Dreading every second, I open my eyes. The officer's body is splayed out beneath me, eyes vacant and open. A scream rips through my throat.

I push myself off of his corpse, but I can't escape the blood pooling around him, seeping into everything. My clothes are soaked, there'sblood in my hair, and in my blind panic, I manage to slip in the puddle while trying desperatelyto crawl away.

"This is how it is here and you better plan on getting used to it if you expect to stay around-"

"You think this is my choice? Why would I choose to be around you people? You're all f*cking monsters!"

The front door opens. Every head in the room turns. Tim stands there, keys in hand, frozen. He takes in the view. His face holds no discernible emotion.

As Tim steps in, he slams the door behind him. His blank emotions turn into anger. He stomps over.

"Woah, big cat," Brian mutters.

In a repeat of Toby's actions, Tim grabs me by the arm and pulls me up and into him. Walking step in step, he drags me away and up the stairs.

"I'm disappointed in you," Tim grumbles to me.

"But I didn't do anything!"

He leads me to the end of the hall and throws me into the bathroom, making me fall onto my ass.

"When I come back, you better be cleaned. If I see you still like this, there will be consequences. And do. Not. Leave."

Tim slams the door again, leaving me in the dark of the evening by myself. I scramble to turn the light on, running my fingers against the unfamiliar wall. It turns on with a 'clunk'. My throat burns as I let out my second scream of the night.

"I don't even have a towel, asshole," I tell no one but myself.

I sit on the floor and try to collect myself, but in reality, I just shiver and ponder nothing. Through walls and doors, I can hear Tim screaming at the others, but it's unintelligible. I wrap my fingers underneath my shirt and strip it off my body. There's a nip in the air. Snow falls down in a flurry outside. Eventually, I get up and start the shower. It turns on with a hiss and after a few moments, steaming hot water pours out of the showerhead. I finish undressing, even though each layer removed leaves me covered in goosebumps.

I step into the stream. The heat burns my skin and makes me dizzy, but I continue to rub off the slimy blood. After a while, when all is said in done, I sit down and let the water pressure drive my skin numb.

Chapter 9: Another Dirty Room

Chapter Text

I sit in the heat of the shower until the water turns from boiling hot to lukewarm. There is hardly any actual scrubbing or cleaning going on. As much as Iwantto rub my skin raw, I refuseto touch any more of the officer's blood. Instead, I let the water push away what it canand watchas it slinksdown the shower drain.

The argument downstairs hasfinally reached ceasefire after raging for what felt like an eternity. For a moment, I could imagine a false reality - a fantasy really. One where this cabin isactually mine and one where Tim, Brian, and Toby never existed. A world where people like Mrs. McGraw and Saul and even Sophia would be just names on the T.V., another tragic accident to remember and forget and remember and forget until finally the local news stopped talking about it and the murders and disappearances fadeaway. I will not cry, but I'llmention it over dinner and maybe write a poem and then I would stop talking about it.

I imaginea separate universe where I never went to university and never got adiploma.Alife of struggle but a simpler life that would leave me atpeace. Maybe in this world, I'llbe an artist painting birds and oddly shapedrocks or I'llbe trying to go big by making a quilt out of human hair. Maybe in this universe, with this lonely and simple cabin all to myself, I'llbe a poet writing haikus about orange peels and self-love. For a small moment, I can imagine what it was like to truly be alone. The silence is beautiful.

I jolt out of my daydream by the ruckus of the bathroom door opening. Cold air floods in and I hide behind the security of the shower curtain while lying sprawled out on the bathtub floor.

"Here's your clothes. We're leaving as soon as you're done,"

Tim shuts the door before I can slip a word in. Leaving?The concept feels foreign. He was so excited for us to get here. The thought of him throwing our "perfect future together" away in the blink of an eye seems very unlike the TimI know. At the very least, it certainly seems like he has cooled off since coming home.

I muster the courage to sit up straight. I could've easily fallen asleep under the pin-pricks of the water, but I can only assume that someone will find out a police officer is dead in a few more hours at most. As I finally start to pick off the now dried bits of blood, my brain backfires. Should I try to delay? Is it even safe? If I can pull this off, there'll be help right at my fingertips. I can be free again.

I push my arm under the stream and let the blood soak. It comes off easilybut leaves me feeling disgusted. I let my predicament settle. If I do it right I can escape.

I grab a bottle from the edge of the tub and squirt silky purple body wash into my palm. I use way too much - both out of spite and the intense desire to feel clean again. Slappingmy hands together, Ilather the soap before I begin working it into my skin. It smells heavily like smokeand oud. After washing, I realize there is nothing I can do to waste any more time. As much as I want to spend an eternity away from insanity, I slam the janky water knob over and pull myself off of the ground. Almost, but not yet.I try to use my brain instead of my gut. The time will come. Just wait.

Stepping out of the shower, I let my feet sink into the bath mat. To my delight, a thick pile of clothes is waiting on the counter along with a towel. I hastily dry myself off before scavenging through. Among the stack are undergarments, wool socks, a thick pair of leggings, jeans, a long sleeveshirt, a sweatshirt, and a large snow jacket. I have never seen the jacket before and can only assume that it is something of Tim's. While the clothes are an ugly combination of colors, I do find myself thankful for the selection. Tim had grabbed the warmest clothes possible. I dress and hold the towel in my hands with disappointment before drying my hair with it.I'd rather suck it up and towel dry my hair than die of hypothermia out there.

It's hard to shake off what Brian and Toby had accomplished not too long ago. I feel trapped in another instance where I had so many opportunities to do the right thing, but ignored every chance - or was just too chicken-sh*t to actually pull it off. How many times can you watch someone die before you just get used to it? Is there any real answer?

Leaving the bathroom is akin to leaving your room after having loud, shameful sex, with your parents on the other side. In this moment, I'd prefer scratching my eyes out over making eye contact with any of the three boys. Brian thinks I'm pathetic and weak, Tim is furious with me for some reason, and I am 80 percent sure that Toby wants to hurt me. Running on my adrenaline crash and stupidity, I make it downstairs. Fresh snow covers the foyer floor and a collection of suitcases and duffle bags are lined up. I easily recognize my own that Tim must've packed for me.

The front door opens and Tim greets me, certainly seeming in a much better mood, but still not his usual cheery self. From the downstairs bathroom approaches Brian with a backpack,shoving a bottle of Isopropyl Alcohol inside before zipping it and slinging it back over his shoulder. He completely ignores me and instead heads to two suitcases and drags them outside into the winter snow.

"I've already got all of your things, so you don't need to worry," Tim says. I look up at him, arms firmly placed at my sides.

"I wasn't,"

Tim digs his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out the hairpin.

"I'm sorry. I didn't get to give it to you in person, but we can pretend, now. I hope you like it."

He slips the pin behind my ear, unable to truly secure it properly. I grab it and hold it gingerly in my hand.

"Thank you," I mutter, "I hope you understand that I didn't get you anything."

"I don't blame you. I'm just glad you're mine."

As my stomach dips, I'm unsure whether to feel relieved or disgusted. Could a better Tim existin one of those universes, too?

"Merry Christmas," Tim says, "let's get you to the car."

I follow him without much of a response and he takes the subtle rejection in pride. However, I'm not even sure if I'm actively rejecting him or not.

Tim leads me outside with a gentle hand on my back. In the driveway is my car, a forgotten police cruiser, and an SUV. Surprisingly, the driveway is shoveled.

In the front seat of the SUV is a very disgruntled Toby with his arms wrapped across his chest. He still has a mask strapped around the bottom half of his face. At the back of the SUV, Brian is shoving the suitcases into the trunk.

I instinctively start towards my car, but Tim corrects me by pulling me tothe SUV. I look at him confused. He turns me toward him and puts his hands on my shoulders.

"We're leaving the car." He says.

"What? I don't get any say in this-"

"You don't understand the situation you put us in. We know what's best"

I'm utterly whiplashed by Tim's accusation, but before I can retort I'm suddenly sitting in the back seat.

Brian drives the car for hours, navigating through the thick darkness of the woods with only the SUV's headlights. The drive is mind-numbing. Trees tower around and offer little scenery in the pitch black. No one has bothered turning on the radio, so we all listen to the hum of the car and tires over dirt, gravel, and snow. Tim sits in the backseat with me, his arms splayed out and resting on the top of the seat, over my shoulders. This drive has been the longest amount of time I've been around all three of them, and it isn't any less unnerving.

"Where are we even going?" I ask.

Breaking the silence makes me cringe. Tim only makes a sleepy hum in response.

"Probably a motel for the rest of the night. I think it'll be safe to stop soon," Brian says.

"M'hungry," Tim mumbles, "we should stop for supper first. No one's eaten right?"

"We can stop at a gas station. No time for anything proper. Too risky," Brian sighs.

I realize how hungry I am at the thought of gas station pizza and a cup of hot chocolate. Not the most nourishing, but I think I genuinely haven't eaten anything in days. At the most, Tim may have been able to slip soup down my throat, but you can only get so much out of a blended meal and an unconscious person.

Tim lets out a hearty laugh.

"How's that sound, huh?" he nudges me with his elbow. I'm too tired and too hungry to argue, so I eagerly agree. This ass is getting pizza and hot chocolate. I'm startled by Toby whipping around to look at us from the front seat.

"Are yuh-you all gonna talk the entire time?" his voice is stern and unsteady. The only features of his that are recognizable are his thick, untrimmed eyebrow curve down and his eyes settled into a glare.

"Brian was talking too, dickhe*d." Tim says lightheartedly.

"Just know, you're all on my sh*t list."

Though Toby seems genuinely pissed (even turning his body towards the passenger door) Brian and Tim treat his upset like silly banter. He really feels like the angsty teen of the bunch and the others don't hesitate to tease him whenever they can.

It doesn't take much longer for the dirt road we've been driving on to finally turninto a highway - an abandoned one at that. It takes even less time to make it to the nearest gas station. Brian pulls up to a pump and turns to me as he unbuckles.

"You're staying in here, what do you want?"

Toby and Tim have already left the car, immediately ditching me. My ego is only slightly hurt. I give Brian my "order".

"Seriously. Don't bother leaving. You won't last in the cold. Plus, I'll sic Toby on you."

The car door slams and I'm left alone and in the dark of the car. It's much brighter here - in the light of the gas station pumps and far closer to the city, but being alone makes me unsettled and frankly scared. I try to think practically so I don't start panicking. Now would be a good time to snap a photo, a quick one of the front of the gas station. My heart drops as I reach for my pocket. I just put these clothes on and I certainly didn't put my phone in my pocket. Oh god, do I still have it?

Fingers shaking, I hold my own hands. Just think rationally, what's the worst-case scenario? I guess it would be Toby, Brian, or Tim finding the phone and deciding to destroy it. Best case scenario? The phone is here, in a suitcase or something. Perhaps there's an even better possibility: the phone was left in the cabin. That could be a good thing! It shouldn't take long for that crime scene to be found. Someone has to know that officer went up there. If the phone is still there, it will be taken for evidence. They'll see that it's mine. They'll see my evidence! They'll see my car too and they'll know I was there and that I can still be saved.

A thankful smile creeps over my face. This might be what I've needed! It would be even better if none of the boys thought to destroy the officer's bodycam footage. Maybe they can piece together that I've been kidnapped!

Tim and Brian come back to the car first, Brian to pump the gas tank, and Tim with our food. Brian throws his into the front seat - a premade tuna sandwich that was literally the color of sawdust and a bottle of water. Tim hands me my drink and my pizza. I immediately start to chow down on the greasy, floppy goodness. The meal is the epitome of mental breakdown (all in that oh-so-lovely triangle-shaped box) and it satisfied something deep inside me. Next to me, Tim also eats a slice of pizza and cracks open a large can of Monster Java - one of those coffee energy drink monstrosities that have literally enough caffeine to kill a horse.

"Where's Toby?" I ask in between bites. I didn'treallycare, but my past three days of constant sleeping and witnessing murder has made me rather exhausted. I'm itching to sleep in a bed again.

"Probably stealing something,"

"What? I thought his whole thing was about not getting caught?"

"HAHA! I know right? He's always all 'unnn Tim, don't bring her with, we'll get caught - but Brian, we're gonna get caught, cover your face'. It's ridiculous. Can't help that he's got some sticky fingers, though. Bet he picked it up when he was younger, 'bout a few years before-"

Brian enters and sits in the driver's seat, also immediately scarfing down his food.

"Before what?" I ask.

"We'll talk more later, I promise."

"That's not very reassuring at all..."

"It's not about being reassuring," Brian starts, "it's about Tim deciding if he trusts you enough for it or not. Or actually," Brian looks into the backseat and stares directly at Tim, "maybe how much he trusts saying things in front of me."

I quickly divert the tension, trying to avoid causing another argument between the two.

"Sooo have you decided where we are staying,"

Brian finally turns back to finish eating his meal as he responds.

"There's a motel not too far from here. It's pretty beat up, but that's exactly what we are looking for right now, especially with your current condition. if anything happens we won't be too far away from a place where we can get some easy food for you. Otherwise, I would've suggested we sleep in the car tonight until we get at least 30 more miles away from town.

"So consider yourself lucky. You get to sleep in a bed tonight."

I don't argue with Brian but instead, think back about what has happened these past few days. Something is definitely wrong with me and it doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard of before. I had never been sick like this before, but I can only assume the stress I'm under has taken me to a breaking point.

Toby pops into the passenger seat and Brian starts the car, throwing his plastic sandwich bow into a bag. It takes no time for Brian to start leaving the gas station and head down the road to the motel. Toby remains huddled up against the car door, seemingly curling in upon himself, and Tim has just started to eat his own food. I lean over to him to speak softly into his ear.

"Tim," he looks over to me, mouth chewing steadily, "what's wrong with me?"

Tim answers at first with his face, eyebrows fretting and chewing slowly. After swallowing he starts.

"I - I don't really know."

"Are you sure? Are you sure you don't anything? I was nearly dead for days but you didn't care to find out what's wrong with me?"

"That's not exactly what happened. I'll tell you more later."

"Is this that thing Brian was talking about? Do you not trust me? Or are you too scared to speak in front of your colleagues?" I demand.

Tim stays quiet as we roll into the parking lot of the motel. Brian wasn't lying when he said it was close by. I let Tim get away with ignoring me and exit the car with everyone else. Toby doesn't bother grabbing his own suitcase and instead heads straight into the lobby, just like he did at the gas station.

"This is yours," Brian wheels my suitcase over to me, the same one that Tim had grabbed before taking me from my home.

I doubt anything new could have been placed in there, including the phone. No one has mentioned it yet, and although everyone seems standoff-ish, it doesn't seem out of the norm. I follow Tim and Brian inside, rolling my stuff behind me. We all walk to the front counter together. At the desk, sits a middle-aged woman, kicking her legs up onto the reception counter and reading one of those cringy romance books with poorly photoshopped naked men on the cover. Her appearance fits the audience I'd expect to see reading these kinds of books, short bleached hair, big cat-eye glasses, and a slightly ill-fitting uniform comprised of khaki shorts and a light blue polo shirt.

"Good morning, how can I help you today?"

"We'd like to rent a room for the night."

The woman slowly sets her book down and puts her feet back on the floor.

"For how many?" She says, voice slightly bemused.

"Four," Brian says, "two beds will work fine if possible."

The woman adjusts her glasses at the nose and starts typing on her keyboard.

"Well," she starts, still taping away, "we aren't very heavily booked, so I have a few rooms you may be interested in. Does the first floor work for you, sir?"

"It works perfectly, ma'am."

"Then we can book you for suite 126. The surrounding suites are... unoccupied, so you will find it'll suit your needs just fine."

In the subsequent silence, Toby approaches from the nearest bathroom and walks up directly behind me.

"I don't think I understand what you're insinuating," Brian says with a smirk.

The woman gets a bit flustered for a minute and stutters while she answers.

"Well, you know, when a woman and multiple men come in for a one-night stay. I've worked here for a long time, sir."

Brian starts to behave aghast and infuriated. Toby scoffs from behind me and whispers to Tim while he starts to argue with the woman at the counter.

"Tim, what room are we in?"

"EXCUSE ME? That woman there is my sister, so Ireallydon't know what you're trying to say. Are you calling my sister a whor*?"

"No, no sir, I never meant-"

"Tim, please, just tell me what room we are in?"Toby begs from behind us.

"No. No, I actually think you know exactly what you meant. You think my sister here is just some f*cking prostitute? Or some p*rn star coming to make a quick buck?" Brian starts to raise his voice and swats his arm towards me.

"Bethica come here," he looks back at me, finally making contact with my shoulder and pulling me forward, "Did you hear what she said about you, Beth?"

Both the woman and Brian look directly at me. The woman starts to apologize profusely.

"I'm terribly sorry miss, I really didn't mean to imply anything, it was completely out of my place-"

"What do you have to say about it, Beth?"

"Wuh-well. Uhhm," I can't even imagine what Brian wants me to say in the situation he's put me in.

"It's okay, Beth. I know you get flustered about this stuff so easily. Big brother will always be here to stick up for you." He turns to the woman, "You're gonna refund us right?"

"W-what?" the woman asks meekly.

"You. You're going to pay us. For our room."

"Oh. Oh! Of course, yes. Of course, I am. I'm so sorry, sir. I really am," she reaches underneath the counter and pulls up a key, "the room is completely on us. Enjoy."

Brian snatches the key to room 126 from her hands and immediately pivots towards the door, walking with his hand over my shoulder.

"Come on, Beth. After tomorrow we'll ditch this town and finally get somerespect."

Tim and Toby follow close by behind us and Brian finally lets go of me. Suite 126 isn't too far from the lobby door, so we reach our room rather quickly. Once inside, I'm finally able to process Brian's act.

"I'm sorry,Bethica?"

Tim rolls my suitcase up to me and sits down on one of the two double beds. Toby immediately starts taking off his shoes.

"Yup! That's your name now. While we're out. You need an alias."

"And you chose f*cking Bethica? Is that even a real name?"

"I don't think so." Brian shrugs, also sitting down on his shared bed to take off his shoes.

"Brian always does this sh*t," Toby speaks up for the first time tonight, "always has to make things a big mess."

"I'm not making things a mess. I'm making it easier. Ain't no way she's gonna go telling her boss about the potentially shady people who came in tonight. At least not for the next few days. She's too embarrassed and she's scared of getting fired. I bought us a few days and a free place for the night. Take what you're given."

"To be fair, she thought you were a sex worker," Tim says.

"And? Who cares when you guys are actual f*cking murderers!" I whisper yell.

"And, that. Part of your alias. No speaking about anything. No asking for help. If you're gonna stay with us, you better not get us caught. It's part of the deal." Brian says.

"What f*cking deal? I didn't make any f*cking deals."

"This deal. You stay with us. You don't get us caught. It's that simple." Toby pipes up from the bed, now getting himself under the covers.

I head over to my shared bed with Tim and sit down as well, taking off my winter coat and unlacing my shoes.

"I didn't even want to f*cking be here," I mutter.

"Well, we'd be at the cabin still if you didn't cause all of that mess," Tim says.

"Okay. You know what. I f*cking get it. You're all against me right now. Just let me go to sleep for the night so I don't have to keep hearing about it."

Chapter 10: In Sickness and In Health

Chapter Text

"What the f*ck are you doing?"

The sound of Tim's frightened whispering startles me. I slowly turn my head towards him, and my hands freeze in Toby's suitcase. In the past 10 minutes, I've upturned every suitcase in the hotel room. Every pants pocket and "hidden"compartment has been rummaged through, and I feel like I'm starting to lose my mind. He rushes upand kneels across from me, starting to shove Toby's clothes back where they were.

"Hey, stop!" I smack at his hands and try to dig further into the bag.

"You can't do that. Stop. I'll help you put it back." he says.

"I don't need your help. Go back to sleep."

"You think you can just go through things that aren't yours? Seriously. Toby already doesn't like you that much. Don't make it worse!" he pulls one of my hands away, continuing to put everything where they belong.

"You think I care about that?"

"I know it's just you and I-"

"That's not what I mean. I'm not staying with these people. You're all crazy."

Tim freezes for a moment. His mouth opens and closes as he visibly thinks of what to say, the silence in the room filled with the soft buzz of the radiator.

"This isn't about the cabin, is it?"

"This was never about that f*cking cabin."

He holds my hands in his. Mine start to tremble in a mix of fear and rage. I know it's wrong, but I can't lie to him. I want to go home. It feels so far away and lost. If I stop speaking about it, what if I forget it altogether? I don't want to forget who I am. I don't want to forget the task I've been given either. These people have killed an innocent child's entire family. They are orphaners. They've shown me that they've done it more than once, too. Now they have me and I refuse to let them turn anyone, including myself, into a statistic.

"You don't understand. There is no other choice."

He speaks so softly with a kindness that almost feels real. I refuse to believe it. No one can cut someone open like that and still be human.

"I didn't like it either at first," he continues, "but you'll get used to it. You might even be able to become a true part of our family. I think that'd be so wonderful. I don't want to share you, trust me. I'd have you all to myself if I could."

"Tim. Respectfully, I don't have any idea what the f*ck you're talking about. You refuse to tell me anything. It's like listening to someone speak another language. What - do you think I'm going to marry you? Join your sh*tty little killing family? I want to live a normal life, the normal one I have waiting for me at home! Don't you understand"

He pauses again. Although it's dark, I can still see his smile falter.

"Yes - but no - that's not exactly what I meant. There's more to this family. We don't have to be married to be connected. I mean, take Toby, Brian, and I - for example. We aren't married, but we're close. We're...special. They're closer to me than you and I. You'll never understand until you become part of us. No matter how sh*tty you think it is. I've been given the choice and I've chosen you."

I stare at him. How the f*ck should someone proceed with such insanity? The thought makes my toes curl. How long has he been in this sick game that it doesn't even phase him anymore?

"Didn't you see any of what you've been missing? You'd been to my house a few times. Didn't you like that? The time spent between us as two people who can just do nice things together? Weren't you even the slightest bit upset - or even jealous?

"Jealous!I think that's the word I'm looking for. Weren't you jealous of what good it could've been? You were doing f*cking everything right. I was vulnerable and emotional all for you and you had it. If you were a good person truly deep down, you would've seen what you had with me and given all of this bullsh*t up, wouldn't you?"

I try to stop myself from getting screaming and start whisper yelling at him. It's pathetic and if Brian or Toby are pretending to be awake, they'd be hearing everything.

"We could've been some sort of couch couple and you'd be getting way more sex than you have for the past however longit has been. Instead, you choose to be here. Why? I don't f*cking get it. You brought me here, I'm away from home and family, and now I'm getting sick. God, what if it's something serious? I could have a tumor or something horrible happening inside of me and you just treat it like some game."

Tim doesn't say anything and keeps eye contact with me. He doesn't even look a bit guilty, just disconnected from the entire struggle.

"You know what? Fine. I'm going back to bed." I start to stand before Tim speaks.

"Are you looking for the phone?" he says.

I look down at him, saying nothing, yet my face gives my answer away. Of course, I'm looking for the phone. My evidence, my saving grace. Without it, who's gonna believe me? Not officer hates-my-guts back home. Maybe not even John or Kari. I wonder if after all this time they think I'm to blame.

"I tossed it. Stop worrying about it. There are greater things."

Unadulterated rage fills my body as I storm back to bed. I could both scream or throw up at the same time, but I guess that cancels itself out in my stomach. I need to do something. I can't be here forever.

"Wakey, wakey."

My eyes are swollen and blurry. I open them to see Brian standing over me, dressed and ready to leave.

"We let you sleep in. We need to go now, no time to waste," he tells me.

"How generous," I mumble as I sit up.

Beside the door is Tim again standing with our suitcases gathered and now in a more presentable state than strewn across the ground like last night. Both Tim and Brian are dressed for the snow, while Toby is nowhere to be found.Brian grabs a coat from the bed and hands it to me along with a pair of thick wool socks.

"No time for you to change now, so put these on. Oh, and we'll try and get you a pair of winter boots soon. From what I understand you've lost yours. Regardless, hurry up. We don't got all day."

I regretfully toss the coat on and zip it up. At least my upper half will be warm, but the cold is going to eat through the fabric of my sweats. My mind starts to wander. No phone. No escape. Out in the middle of nowhere is not the most ideal in the dead of winter. Chances are if I runout anytime soon I'll freeze to death next to my own stupidity.

After my shoes are tied, we all head out the door and straight to the lobby to return our room key. The lobby smells like freshly cookedbacon and eggs, but the room is empty.

"They don't want your hoass at the continental breakfast, so we'll have to find somewhere else to eat," Brian says.

I stifle my anger at him and say nothing back. No one is attending, so Brian tosses the key onto the lobby desk and immediately turns back to the exit. Tim pulls me along, grabbing me on my arm like a child.

"That's not what he means. He likes gas station food when we are on - uh, trips. Yeah. He just wants to spend more time on the road."

"I hope your gas station food gives you botulism. And I hope you choke on it, too. Yeah! f*ck you, Brian." I mutter to myself. Gas station food, really? What a sh*t excuse for such a measly existence. He's a lurker and a freak and he knows he's gonna get caught.

"I can't wait till you two finally get along," Tim says.

We head out to the car, where Toby is waiting in the front seat. I fail to remember if I have ever seen him without the mask. If anyone needs to learn to get along with me, it's him. As soon as we get in, Brian starts driving. With no GPS or any guidance from the other boys, he gets on the highway and drives in a direction.

"Do you guys have any real plan? Where exactly are we going after this? The cabin is done for."

"We have many places to operate. The cabin was only a temporary for this dipsh*t," Brian says, gesturing to Tim, "the world is ever in his favor this year."

"Y'all have to be cryptic as f*ck all the time?"

Everyone ignores me as the car continues to blaze down the highway. Trees and road signs fly past us and the snow from yesterday leaves a white film across the city.

"You obviously know by now that cabin was never ours. We just borrowed it for the moment and now we'll find somewhere else to hide out. Hopefully longer than a month this time." Brian continued.

"So are you guys trying to convince me you're some kind of professional? Everything about you is all over that crime scene and you left the car of a missing person in the driveway. They'll be on us in no time - in fact, I think that's them coming up behind us now,"

We all watch outside the passenger door windows as a vaguely police-car-looking vehicle completely passes us. I deflate, slamming my head against the back of Brian's seat.

"Oh yeah, they're hot on our tail,"

"Okay, Brian! We get it." I turnmy body away from them and stareout the window. There isn't much to see. Telephone poles dot the Montana landscape. I look down at the road beneath us, frosty and cracked from age. They're all watching me. I know it. There's three of them and one of me and now I'm sick, too, and barely know where I am anymore. Days feel stretched into months and those into years. I cannot forget what they've done to others. This isn't just Tim's obsession with me. This is far from that. Toby and Brian both would kill me if it weren't for him and I worry that if I push his love too hard he'll just end me himself. I've been too feisty and I need to stop. One wrong comment and my life ison the line.

Brian continues to drive us down the long stretch of road. I count trees like sheep, but find it hard to relax, let alone fall asleep. It's eight in the morning, but temperatures still fall far below freezing. I need a new plan and thankfully road trips are great for thinking.Money laundering. That's what Saul was arrested for. Before I was kidnapped, it was our biggest lead.

"We were... Business associates of sorts. So yeah, I knew him a bit"

Tim and his friends don't seem to be the sort of people I'd expect to be involved in white-collar crime. They seem much more like the opposite, doing all the dirty work and getting all of their fingerprints everywhere. They seem messy and amateur. I remember the crime scene at the Bellhouse residence. Compared to what happened in the cabin, they both make sense. Both scenes were left ransacked and soaked in blood (granted the cabin, not to the same extent). I wonder if they found any substantial evidence since I left. Everything in the Bellhouse case seemed oddly clean. The cabin back there must have been hasty work. They must not be used to being so careless.They know it. We're probably moving over state lines since the trail they've left is so hot. I'm right and they know they can't argue it. They've lived in that cabin for so long that it's bound to be covered in hair and prints and mine too.

I worry for a moment. I have to have faith in John and the team I work with back home. They'll see the connection, but they'll know I'm not involved and that I'm a victim. They have to.

I look away from the road and to the three boys in the car beside me.

"They were wearing masks. I don't know what they look like. They were super tall though,"

Sophia didn't see them, not in full. If only she had seen their faces, then my testimony could stand up in court. I could describe them and she could back me up. In the worst-case scenario, I can try and use their mannerisms. Toby is high-strung and twitchy, and Brian is oddly relaxed. I can't forget the hatchet either - the one Toby used to chop into the officer who came to the cabin. It in itself was pretty unique and could maybe do something for me. It looked like a more modern design - something that could be seen in a hardware store next to jaw-toothed saws and hammers. Black with an orange grip. I don't know enough about them to know if it could narrow anything down, but if the wounds are similar between Saul, the Bellhouse's, and the officer from the cabin, there may be something arguable there.

I sigh, touching my hand to my head. There's a reason I didn't become a lawyer, but to be fair, both of the Bellhouse parents were and the fact didn't save either of them.

Blood spatters onto my sweats. I wipe my nose. Right. This has happened before, hasn't it?

My memory of the other day is still horribly fuzzy, but I seem to randomly remember things here and there, which is odd. I sit still and try and stay calm, hoping I don't pass out for days again. I bunch up the sleeve of the coat Brian gave me, cover my face, and look back out the window. For them, I hope I just look bored as hell. I feel a little nauseous, but mark it up as being car sick. I am not passing out. The trees around us thin out as we go lower in elevation. This isn't the same way Tim and I came through to get into Montana. We're likely going in the opposite direction. No way these guys are stupid enough to bring me close to home. I doubt they'll be able to bring us all across the border, too. Maybe them, yeah, but no way someone out there isn't looking for me. We wouldn't get far.

Head slamming, I lean my head against the car window and try to close my eyes. The dark world behind my closed eyes starts spinning, so I open them immediately. What the hell? If the car doesn't stop soon, I just might vomit all over the place. Ignoring it, I try to keep distracting myself. Staring out into the tree line, I feel as if I've lived this before. Mesmerized, I watch as trees fly by. The car suddenly turns, taking the tree line out of my sight. Startled, I sit up and turn to look inside the car. We're pulling into a parking lot of what looks like a part of a very small town. Around us is a small diner, another motel, a nearly empty truck stop, and some other surrounding buildings in the distance.

Brian and Toby leave the car quicker than I can process. Tim nudges my arm a bit.

"Hey sleepy. We're staying the night here. It's pretty out of the way, so as long as you're on your best behavior we should have no problems,"

"What do you mean staying the night?" I look at him, genuinely confused. It does look pretty dark outside, but that can't be possible.

"You were asleep for a while back there," he frowns, "and it looks like you had another nosebleed. C'mon. We're gonna eat at the diner. I'll help you clean up your face in the bathroom."

I bring my hand to my nose. The blood that was just pooling there was already dry and crusted. It couldn't be possible. It was just morning time. I never fell asleep, and if I did it was the lightest damn sleep of my entire life. It doesn't make sense.

Tim ignores my confusion and leaves the car, coming around the other side to open the door and help me out. I am groggy and confused, but I didn't fall asleep. I just closed my eyes! Slumping into Tim's side, we walk up to the diner. It looked old and had a stereotypical metro 50s vibe to it. The large neon sign outside it only said "DINER" in big red caps.

The front door to the diner let out a chime as the two of us entered. The lighting was obnoxiously bright. Tim and I walk immediately to a bathroom in the corner of the restaurant and he doesn't stop, following me inside and bringing me up to a sink. Jukebox music sounds softly in the diner, muffled by the walls of the bathroom. Tim pulls a few napkins out of the dispenser on the wall and wets them with water. A hand grabs my face and pulls it to look up at him. He begins dabbing and wiping at my face, getting all of the blood off.

"I didn't fall asleep,"

"Mhmm,"

"Really-" I say.

He keeps cleaning me up, rubbing my face with his thumb as he does so.

"You're hungry, right? Place looks like it has good food. We could share a pizza."

"Stop ignoring me," I plead, but he doesn't add anything else.

After a while, he throws the wet napkin in a nearby trash can. He grabs my face with both hands now, feeling my cheeks.

"Hmm. You're a little warm. Don't worry, we'll sleep after we eat."

Feeling slightly better, we both walk out of the bathroom and back into the diner. It is fairly busier than I would've expected for somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There's a family or two eating at tables on the dining floor and a handful of what I assume to be truckers drinking coffee and the breakfast bar. My eyes meet Brian's, sitting next to Toby at a booth seat tucked in the corner of the diner. We head over to them. The smell of the place is quite nice and it intensifies as we walk past a family eating hamburgers and chicken tenders. Tim shuffles me in front of him, seating me by the wall. I only realize after that I'm perfectly surrounded by all of them.

"Wow, that really was a quickie," Brian says as we sit down.

"That's not why we were in there, jackass," Tim says.

They're both smiling at each other, like best friends on game day.

"Waitress came by, we just ordered co*kes for you. Sorry if you wanted something else."

Brian looks directly at me as he speaks, pushing one of the glasses toward me. Tim had already started sipping on his and looking through a menu. I grab the soda and unwrap a straw, dropping it into the glass. I really am hungry and so I take a menu from the center of the table. I flip through it. There's nothing too fancy here, just sandwiches, burgers, and other junk. After eyeballing the pizza menu, I glance over at Tim. He's doing the same. While continuing to look through, everybody looks up. I turn to my left, looking past Tim. The waitress stands at the end of the booth and plops down a basket of fries.

"All ready to order?"

She's an older lady, seemingly unamused by the sight of the four of us.

"I think so," Brian says, starting to order. In the meantime, Tim turns to me and asks about my pizza preference. I tell him whatever and let him relay it to the waitress. I hand him my menu. Soon enough, the waitress was leaving, giving us an odd look. At first, there is no chatter between us, but out of boldness, I speak.

"She's onto you,"

I take a sip from the soda. It really is co*ke. I'm not sure why I expected Brian to lie. I hear Toby call me a dumbass before Brian talks.

"Nobody here is interested in you for what you think. This isn't the city you lived in. They see an outsider. A city girl. With three men."

I stare blankly at him, shaking my head.

"Yes," Brian says, "like before they just think you're getting around, don't blow it, okay?"

If anyone else in the next 30 minutes insinuates that I'm either a p*rnstar or a prostitute, I might just end myself before anyone else gets the chance.

I listen to Brian and Tim talk while fiddling with the wrapper of my straw. Toby doesn't say much, leaning back to close his eyes and resting his head on the booth seat.

"Did you scope out the hotel, yet?" Tim starts.

"Yeah, nothing to worry about. Check-in runs pretty late too, so we got time."

Their speaking fades as I space out, lost in my own thought. I feel Tim shake me as a pizza tray is placed in front of us. He serves me two slices and he continues to talk. In front of me, Toby slid down his face mask. He doesn't say anything about it - nor does anyone else. At most, he seems slightly irked. I notice two white circles, one on each of his cheeks. Looking closer, I can tell that they're spacers, like the gauges every hipster seemed to have circa 2012. These however are solid with no holes and seem to allow him to eat pretty easily as Toby chomps down into his sandwich. The gauges themself are rather big, too. Pretty gnarly. Understandable why Toby wouldn't want to show me his face, especially if he thinks I might have a chance of getting away. It's impossible not to notice someone with holes on both sides of their mouth.

I eat my food, taking small bites. Maybe getting something in my body will make me feel a bit better too. It's flu season, but I ain't ever seen someone get nosebleeds from the flu. Not that me being passed out for days makes sense either. I look around the diner at the ceiling. Frowning, I take another bite. I don't see any sort of CCTV cameras or anything. At least not here. Maybe there's something on the outside or in front of the hotel that'll catch us. I need to find a way to leave a trace. Toby might be good help with his pierced face. I notice now that he has a couple of face and ear piercings, but his "cheek holes" really distract from them.

We take probably the next hour to finish our food. It's only 5 PM, but Tim and Brian insist we settle down for the rest of the night so we don't attract too much attention. Surprisingly, Brian pulls out a wad of cash to leave as a tip. We pass the same groups of people as we leave, but Toby was quick to pull the mask back up before we even left our table. The same chime dings from the front door as we open it and a chill of cold air floods around us. We step into the parking lot, walking over fresh powdery snowfall. Toby walks beside me, rather closely while Tim and Brian trail ahead of us, heading over to the hotel nearby. I size him up for a moment, wondering if I could take him on myself while Tim and Brian aren't paying attention.

"You've been getting sick," he states.

"Yeah, and?" I ask.

"This is just the beginning of it. I hope you know. It doesn't get better either. Join, or die."

"Wow, thanks." I stop and turn to him, hands snug in my coat pockets, "you really are the light of optimism I've been looking for in my tryingtimes."

"That's not my point. He'll find you even if you leave, and you'll be sick the whole time you're gone. You'll be stalked for the rest of your life."

"Tim's not good enough at tracking to do such a thing. You don't think I wouldn't get into some sort of witness protection program or something? He isn't gonna find sh*t concerning me."

Toby is silent for a moment. Snow flurries between us.

"I'm not talking about Tim."

Chapter 11: Starting At The Beginning

Chapter Text

It was already sometime in mid-January. The weather continued to dip and there was no sign of it stopping anytime soon. Days and nights quickly shifted into weeks. One hotel turned to twenty. The four could never stay in one place - though, that was never really your choice. You had no clue how they decided, but they kept running and running, dragging you along the entire time. Hotel-hopping was not for the sensitive. It was f*cking dreadful. Wherever the boys got their money from, they didn't have enough for anything lavish. Everywhere you stayed was cheap and riddled with crime; coated with a funky mixture of cigarette, perfume, and booze. Regardless, they kept you warm enough from the frost outside and the horrible winter blizzards. If they couldn't, you'd probably be dead.

Your health status had been far from good. Though you hated feeling vulnerable around them, you needed rest most of the time. Brian told you that what you had a few weeks past was a seizure and that you had another one a few days after visiting the diner. You didn't believe him one bit. What he said didn't sound right - you didn't think seizures would cause nose bleeds. It didn't make sense for them to cause you to lose consciousness for several days in a row. It didn't explain the random bouts of amnesia you'd been having either. Forgetting small things, forgetting big things. None of it made sense. In the past few days, you've only had occasional nose bleeds. Tim told you it was just the cold. You didn't believe him either. He was still beating around the bush when it came to telling you what was really going on, even though he kept insisting that he would.

You wished they'd flee somewhere warmer, like LA, but you didn't have a say in any of it. As they were trying to throw off the police, you felt as if you were going in circles. At this point, you should've been able to slip out of their hands, but no one in the area seemed to know who you were. It was devastating. Each person you saw, you practically begged to be recognized, but you guess a nationwide manhunt was too big for a gas station clerk to care about. At least, you hoped that there was a nationwide manhunt. John and Kari would start a nationwide manhunt for you. The station wouldn't let you disappear like that. A detective being kidnapped was a pretty big deal. Even that slimy f*cking cop who thought you'd done it would be looking for you. His pride was too heavy to let a "murderer" get away.

Unfortunately, no one ever left you alone either. Never a spare moment to walk away. Tim always insisted on waiting for you outside the bathroom door and practically escorting you from the front door to your bed.

The other night you woke after dreamless sleep. Sitting in the ambiance of the hotel room, listening to Tim and Brian's snores (and Toby's gentle ones) kept you awake. They were all peacefully asleep. Dead asleep. You imagined leaving - escaping the confines of the room in search of somebody to recognize you and take you home. You'd even imagined what they'd look like. Maybe they'd be a trucker, chunky but strong in stature, with kindness in his eyes and gentle care in his heart - but you thought this man you imagined was too much like Tim. The person you wished Tim was. You imagined an older woman instead, maybe a mother spotting you at one of the hotels. Maybe she'd look you in your eyes as you checked in, but Tim never let you in with them. It was always straight from the car to the room now.

Alternatively, you pondered killing them. Each and every one of them. Were you strong enough to kill them all one by one? Probably not. The thought of being able to do it in their sleep is what kept you pondering, but one of them would hear you. Even if you shoved the pillow over Brian's head until he suffocated. Still,it didn't make the idea any less satisfying. Maybe you could slip some Ajax into Tim's morning coffee. You wanted anything that would make you feel less weak and alone, yet you found yourself haunted by Toby's words. You'd never be able to get away fromthem. You were ashamed that you were too scared to find out. Why were you such a coward? How hard could any of it actually be.

About an hour ago, the car had stopped in front of a Wal-Mart. You'd been sitting in the parking lot since, waiting for Brian to return with real food, while you, Tim, and Toby waited in the car. They had agreed that you weren't allowed in crowded public spaces. The diner was probably the last you'd ever see of it. Thoughtlessly, you ran your fingers over the hairpin Tim gave you. Holding it in your pocket, you felt to coldness of the metal and traced your thumb against the gemstones. You'd never been given anything to do these car rides and they'd be terribly boring.

"What makes a home to you," Tim asked suddenly.

It was an uncomfortable question. Home was home, back from where he stole you. You ignored him, but he didn't seem to care.

"I think that anywhere I'm with you, I'm okay," he said.

You couldn't find a response and huffed. Turning your body to face the car window, you watched as a few people exited the shopping center. They were like tiny little ants, packing their groceries into their cars and leaving for where ever they lived. You were just an ant, too. Brian was taking his sweet time and unlike Toby, you couldn't flip through a crossword puzzle and ignore the man beside you. If only you'd been invited inside. If you had money, you'd buy the "good" shampoo you were always too scared to try. Your hair would smell great and it wouldn't be so neglected.

"What about some of your favorite things," he spoke from beside you, "I wanna know more about the things you like."

You listed some small things, little bits and pieces to keep him amused.

"I like being inside by a fireplace and light snowfall."

"We can do a fireplace."

You were uneased by that statement but tried to keep him talking to himself.

"What about you?" you asked.

His eyes seemed to light up as he thought. It nearly made you feel bad, wishing he was the man you'd met weeks ago.

"I play guitar. Sounds like that could make a nice winter night, couldn't it?"

You winced. God please don't let this straight white man play guitar at you. You couldn't imagine how else this sh*tty situation could get worse.

Toby spoke up from the front seat, "Finally,"

He shifted his legs and tossed the crossword book to the floor. The three of you turned to look out the car window, watching as Brian lugged over the groceries - no shopping cart necessary. As he got close, Tim popped open the trunk for him.

"Got everything?" he asked, watching as Brain set the bags between suitcases.

"All basics. Trash bags were on sale too so I bought a few extra. Lemon scented," he hummed.

"Super useful for the trashcan we have," you muttered. Tim held up a finger, waving his hand near your face.

"The trashcan we're about to have," he corrected.

Your eyes widened, excited at the thought of a real bed to sleep in and a clean bathroom.

"We're going to Missouri," Tim said.

"What's down in Missouri?"

"Hmm, cowboys, corn fields-" Brian spoke.

"Not literally. I mean for us specifically,"

"Uh... intuition," Tim told you.

"No, not intuition. Initiation." Toby insisted.

You wish you had any slight idea what they were talking about because you were really not wanting to be a part of some murder-quad group sh*t. Especially when you weren't even sure where this house was coming from. Were they going somewhere abandoned? Maybe a friend of a friend?

"Good plans in Missouri. You'll be a great part of the team," Tim patted you softly on the shoulder.

f*ck.

"I think I'm more of a solo guy." you half-joked.

"Nah, still gotta be part of the team," he said.

Brian came around to the driver's seat opened the door and sat inside.

"Let's leave the bickering for when we get there, we've got a long drive ahead of us," he said.

"And where are we exactly?" you asked.

"Nebraska."

It certainly didn't feel like you were in Nebraska, but you couldn't really tell just by looking. You were on the road for so long that you could've been in Florida by now, so your suspicions were correct. You were zig-zagging around. Missouri wasn't that far away, depending on where exactly your destination was. Your expression soured. Had they made this decision sometime last night when you were asleep? Were they texting on phones while you weren't looking? You'd think choosing where to hide out from the police would have at least a little bit more planning and execution, but they seemed to all simultaneously agree that Missouri was the place to be.

Before you knew it, Brian had started the car and you'd left the shopping center parking lot. You wished you'd asked to stand up and stretch your legs a bit, but chances are somebody would need to piss sometime soon. You glanced back at the trunk unable to stop your stomach from grumbling.

"Can we get something to eat?" you asked.

Without hesitation, Tim reached his arm behind you, rummaging through the bags Brian placed.

"We've got Pringles."

He held the can out to you. You took it from him, cradling it in your arms. Nothing like a snack food to heal the soul. You ate one, staring out the window as you left civilization. Everyone was quiet. Toby reached forward, turning the volume of the radio up.

"Good morning, Auburn. Did you miss us?" a sultry female radio host spoke over the car's speakers.

"Your favorite 'littlest city, biggest attitude' radio station is back after the holidays-"

You tried to tune the sound out. All it was missing was the obnoxious soundboard that every radio station seemed to have. No horn sounds? No bald eagles? Was this even America?

"Before we get back into the music, an update on today's news. Investigators have ruled the Brookwick home invasion a crime of passion. The involved - 42-year-old Keneth Chadley - was arrested Tuesday evening after he was found sleeping beside a nearby highway-"

Toby interrupted her, with a heavy chuckle. Your chip chewing slowed.

"Stupid f*cking pigs," he said.

"What are the odds of that?" Brian asked.

"Guess it's not that hard when their entire police force has their thumbs stuck up their own asses,"

"Well, guess we have no reason to be hiding, then. Dinner on me, eh?"

Toby and Brian fist-bumped each other. You nearly felt sick. Brookwick. Was that the neighborhood you were in? The city? You hadn't heard the name before, but the boys did. Did they get away with what happened in the cabin? Your own career was kind of f*cking things up for you - and it was f*cking infuriating.

"-clear skies with wind chills from the north. Stay safe out there, Auburn."

Her voice was interrupted by some sh*tty pop-country music. It was a punch to the stomach. Worse, she hadn't even mentioned you but brought up some murder in middle-of-nowhere-Montana. Were you nothing? Had hope been given up? You felt selfish for thinking you were a bigger deal, but it wasn't fair! Everything about what happened to you screamed kidnapping. You're sure your house is still a mess, too. Why couldn't this be easier for you? Them killing that officer was supposed to be a beacon to you. You were supposed to finally go home, but now you worried that you'd be gone forever.

Thankfully, Brian's ears seemed disgusted by the sounds coming from the radio and changed stations. He drove for a while with nothing to say. Putting the lid on the Pringles can, you set it in Tim's lap. He'd somehow managed to fall asleep and the can rolled to the floor, falling with a light thud. Brian glanced back at you, looking at your arms crossed over your chest.

"Hey, what are you so grumpy for? Negative Nancy killing our vibe."

"Isn't it a little obvious? You don't have to rub it in my face."

"You'll catch on eventually. Don't you understand how hard it is to get out of prison?"

"I have a feeling you know a little bit about it, actually."

Instead of responding, he laughed, keeping his eyes on the road. You looked at the back of Toby's seat, trying to imagine how all of them got caught up in this.

"Don't you ever wish things were different?" you asked him, "you aren't made for this."

"Oh, come on!" Brian was now practically giggling.

"He likes this sh*t more than any of us do. You saw him the other day."

You didn't like thinking about the other day. Especially the part where Toby shoved you on top of a corpse. You saw Toby's eyes in the side mirror. He was using it to look at you, with deep-set brown eyes and bags worse than yours. Does being a murderer usually make you look that f*cked up?

"What you get some sort of sick hard-on from it you hedonistic piece of sh*t?" you asked.

He didn't speak, head nodding up and down slowly, mouth covered with a face mask. How embarrassing. Your face felt hot. He was just f*cking with you.

"You know what, stop talking to me," you mumbled, turning your body to look out the window.

We ended up driving for a few hours at least. The scenery was lost on you. You were bored to death in the middle of nowhere, especially after so long looking at highways, forests, and farmland. However, you and Toby kept locking eyes through the side mirror. Each time he looked straight through you.

Tim woke up after about an hour with nothing much to say, but Brian and Toby mentioned the news about the cabin police officer they'd killed. Tim was overjoyed.

The part of Missouri you drove through in particular was mostly corn. Much of the farming patches were dead and vacant in the middle of winter, but a few still had stalks growing, all of which were reddish-brown in contrast to the light snowfall speckling the earth. At some point, Brian took a turn off the highway. He drove you through farmland via a small access road. The highway became distant 'til the sound of traffic stopped reaching. The sun had already begun setting over the horizon, leaving twilight skies. You took note of a few farmhouses in the distance, all quaint and crop-yielding. You wished there were cows or horses to look at, but livestock didn't seem very popular here.

Tim nudged you with his arm and mumbled something about almost being there. You paid close attention as Brian pulled onto a driveway, trying to brush off drowsiness from the past few nights. You hadn't slept since this morning and even that was shoddy.

The car turned off, leaving the vehicle silent. Brian and Toby left without much of a word, but Tim grabbed your arm with a sense of urgency, holding you still.

"What is it? I'm tired and I'd like to lay down, now."

From the trunk, Toby and Brian grab a few things, including the groceries bought earlier. You ignored them, trying to listen to Tim's weary voice.

"It's going to be hard, I know."

You watched with jealousy as the two head up to the house. You would be so cozy if you were tucked underneath the covers with a feather-filled pillow beneath your head. The heat of an insulated house sounded so nice.

"Would you kill someone? For me."

Time stood still.

"What the actual f*ck is wrong with you?"

"When things change and hedecides you're good enoughhe'llforce you to kill someone. Or someone to kill you. You won't have a choice. I know it's f*cked up, but we're just doing what we have to. This might be your last chance to do something while you still feel like yourself."

Dread pooled in your stomach. You think you gagged a little. It felt as if you saw something like the "real" Tim came out to speak to you as if he found some sort of clarity. As if he'd been haunted by a ghost this entire time. There wasn't anything underlying that felt demeaning (besides asking you to murder someone). It felt genuine, as if he were scared for you. You weren't sure what to say. You were scared for yourself, too.

"Toby and Brian, they told me how you had nothing to do with that back there. They've been trying to tell me a lot of things, but when we get someone new I get really attached. I get kind of lost in it as if it has a chance of making the switch any better. I know it just makes it scarier but it happens every time. I don't think I have much of a chance to change that. Or apologize.

"It doesn't have to be violent. Or vicious. Back at the cabin - I know that's not you. I know we get carried away sometimes. We simply got lost in who he made us to be. It needs to be done."

"I'm not some toy you get to play with. I'm not letting you make me kill someone just because you want me to!"

"I don't want you to - there is no choice! I'm hoping if you do this now maybehe'llgo easy on you."

Anger felt itchy on your skin.

You still hadn't met this "he"they all spoke of. If Tim thinks info-dumping on you is going to fix anything, it isn't.

"I don't even understand what you're saying right now. You're scaring me."

"It isn't easy to explain. I've been holding it off and I'm sorry. It was wrong,"

You looked at him, speechless. What could you possibly say to that?

"Fine. Whatever. I'm trying to help you, but I don't really care anymore." he looked up at you. There were tears in his eyes.

"I don't want to kill somebody," you said.

"I don't wanna see you leave. He'll make me kill you. I f*cking know it. I can't have your blood on my conscience. Or my hands. I just wanted to see something different this time. I wanted to help."

Your hands began to shake.

"You're gonna kill me?"

"If he tells me to."

"Why?"

"Because I won't have a choice. Why can't you understand?"

"I don't even know who he is, goddammit!" you screamed, "can't you see how hard that makes all of this? Why are you scared of some asshole who can't even do his dirty work himself?"

"He's a god. He's making you forget things. He's watching us. He always does."

Stupidly, you looked around the car, expecting to see someone waiting. You only managed to catch Brian and Toby slipping into the backyard of the house, disappearing in the darkening sunset.

"You'll see him when he wants you to. It's easier when you try not to fight it and it hurts a lot less."

Tim's eyes locked with your own. His skin had a pale and sweaty sheen. You felt sickly sorry for him. Blood trickled down his nose like it'd done to you many times this month, but he simply ignored it.

"I don't know what to say."

"If you don't do this-" his eyes pleaded.

"Who am I..." you fought to find the words, "Who am I supposed to..."

"I can show you. Follow you the entire way. You just have to show him that you can do it."

You looked back at the farmhouse. Were you to kill whoever lived here? Murder them and steal their home like Tim had done before. That was so cruel, to take someone's life and then their home. That was everything that made them. You had no right to strip that away.

Mindlessly, your hand fell to reach into your pocket. Fingers traced along the cool metal of the hairpin once again. He had gifted it to you. You grabbed it with a white-knuckled grip, swiftly pulling it from your pocket and thrusting the pin into his chest.

An agonizing, breathless gasp left his lungs.

Your hands were shaking. Still, you wrenched the pin away, skin squelching as blood poured from him in a steady stream. You stabbed him a second time and his body wracked with the same gasp. Your trembling worsened. Ever so slightly, he looked down, face contorted.

Tim reached toward you. Screaming, you pivoted away, leaning the entirety of your body against the car door. Fumbling with the door handle, you shook it vigorously until your body flew to the dirt driveway. You let out an audible 'oof' as you crashed to the floor. You tried to stand and failed a few times, falling to your knees. Legs scraped against stray pebbles and your wrists were bloodied from catching your fall. From the corner of your eye, you could see Tim shifting out of his seat to get to you, falling out of the same seat you did. He was coming to kill you, not even bothered by the two punctures to his chest. He was finally going to do it. You knew that whole speech was bullsh*t. Tears streamed down your cheeks. Why did you trust him so much?

Once you found yourself on both your feet, you flew around the parked car, dropping the bloodied pin along the way. Racing heartbeats thumped in your ears like thunder. You followed down the driveway, into the tree line that surrounded it.

"Come back," he yelled from behind you.

Glancing towards him, you screamed again. He was far closer than you expected and gaining on you quickly. The nearest house was miles away, you'd hoped maybe Tim would get exhausted and bleed out before he caught you. Sneakers crashed against the dirt beneath you as you propelled yourself forward. All you could think about was running: how your limbs worked with muscle to go faster, how your feet crashed against the ground, how your lungs burned.

With no choice, you ducked into a cornfield. Stalks stood tall, making it impossible to see three feet in front of you. Blood dripped down your nose spilling in a thick stream down your chin.

"Where are you?" Tim called out, "Come back, please,"

He sounded close still, but the two of you were weaving between corn stalks, pushing aside leaf blades that were dry and crumbly from the winter frost, and stumbling over roots.

You pushed forward, running until you couldn't anymore - running until your thighs ached and your ankles hurt. Falling into a slow trek, you nudged leaves from your face. You listened. You couldn't hear him behind you anymore, only noticing the sounds of the wind. The chill was dizzying and pain throbbed in your skull.

You continued for what felt like hours.Finally feeling a resemblance of safety, you lay on the ground, on your side. The world was buzzing in your ears. You hoped Tim wouldn't manage to find you here, but you were too exhausted to move on further. The ground beneath you was the coldest blanket. Were you gonna freeze to death? You groaned as the ringing grew louder, shifting to lie on your back.

The moon sat full and low above you, clashing against the now dark sky, lit by speckled stars. Staring into it, you felt dread puddle in your body. You could feel it as an ache in your bones. Something didn't quite feel right. You stared closer at the moon above you, trying to steady your breathing. The moon was a face with no eyes, no mouth or nose. A slim face obscured like a mesh cloth had been tightened over it and fused on. Your eyes traced over hisbody, hidden in the darkness. Warm tears spread down your face once again. It simply couldn't be real. It couldn't be happening. The man with the suit and tie was far too tall to be real. He was too fake to be standing over you and staring down at your body. You were a bug to him. A piece of gum stuck to the pavement.

His face was the moon. His body was a stalk of corn. You were only dizzy. Unwell. Had you hit your head on something when you fell out of the car? Was this another seizure like Brian said? Is that why you couldn't move and your body was aching?

A scream ripped from your throat but no sound followed. Your vision was blinded completely. Filled with white. Ears ringing.

Searing pain filled your chest. It burned like you were being branded and ached along your sternum. Hot molten lava poured against your skin. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for mercy. No one could hear you. You wanted to cave in on yourself - you wanted death. Anything that would make the pain stop. Warmth pooled against your stomach as your shirt soaked up the blood. You tried to open your eyes, squinting as you did so. Your vision was lined with a flash of light running aimlessly in diagonals. The feeling in your arms went numb.

Trying over and over again to say anything was impossible.Hehad silenced you.Hewas carving something into your skin. Your muscles were trembling, but your body wasn't moving at all; with the warmth now spreading to your thighs, you're convinced you've pissed yourself.

"Puh- please," you barely managed to say out loud, the wordstoplost on your lips.

The pain was unimaginable and only worsened. Moans came from you, gurgled and strangled in your throat. You were barely able to breathe, choking on your own saliva. Amongst it all, the air was still and quiet. Tim made no move to find you, you no longer heard his voice calling out for you. Even the wind stopped, nothing now pushing aside corn stalks. Not even a rustle.

Once the pain ceased, you failed to notice the presence had left you. Hewas nowhere to be seen, yet you still couldn't get your stubby legs to move. Tired and exhausted. You were so tired. Closing your eyes, you sighed.

You faded into the dark, underneath the moon and let yourself sleep.

"You know I didn't want it to happen this way."

"I know, but you can't change the wrath of a god."

"That doesn't make me feel better and you know that."

You listened in on the conversation, not quite feeling real. It felt like you had your chest punched in, but at least you were lying on a soft bed and... dear god - a feather pillow.

"Hey, it's payback for what she did to you,"

"I was just trying to make things easier,"

"And there's still nothing you could've done about it."

There was a tone of finality in that voice. A tone you weren't used to hearing. Brian?

The events prior hit you all at once. The stab to Tim's chest. The cornfield. Him.Whathehad done to you. This was what they were scared of this entire time. This was who they were running from.

You can't change the wrath of a god.

You attempted to open your eyes, but the brightness in the room made you squint them shut. You groaned and felt a body sitting beside you shift on the mattress.

"Well, at least she's alive huh?"

A hand reached out to yours, caressing it softly.

"Now she's here forever,"

Tim's voice rang in your ears with a pang of sadness. He'd lived?

"Hold your horses. Still, plenty of time to change his mind about things," Brian said.

"You really don't know what you want Tim. Don't know if you want her to live this way forever, but also don't want her to die. You know, dying would be a mercy for her at this point. Why have you become so attached."

Tim sighed, squeezing your hand.

"Some people don't deserve to die,"

After finally managing to open your eyes, you examined the room around you. It was certainly a farmhouse, looking similar to something a grandma would live in. The walls were decorated with antique wooden furniture. Brian sat near a window in a rocking chair, leaning back with his head resting on his hand. Laid over your body was a heavy, knitted blanket. It looked handmade.

"How're you feeling?" Tim asked.

The answer was far from good but your throat was too hoarse to speak.

"I'll get some water," Brian said, standing to leave.

"Thanks,"

Tim looked at you, eyes sad. He seemed well. Hardly even looked like he had been stabbed in the chest. Twice. You stared back at him, unable to speak, but he spoke for you.

"I know. I'm sorry,"

What was he apologizing for? Was it you stabbing him? That seemed ass-backward, even though you'd been the one to do it.

"Honestly, I really didn't expect him to mark you so soon. He has a pretty sick sense of humor doesn't he."

You didn't see what was so funny about the situation. Humor? Marked? When Brian came back, Tim was getting a verbal ass-whooping.

"Don't worry I'll explain everything the best I can. Now that it's official. I'm sorry,"

The door opened slowly, and you both looked over surprised to see Toby instead of Brian. He wore a form-fitting sweater that accentuated his thin body, but you could tell he had some serious strength on him. However, you were especially surprised to see him maskless again, which he had done so few times since the diner. Maybe once or twice at most.

"So it's ruh-real, huh?" he clicked, jerking his head up.

Tim nodded and Toby seemed relieved.

"Good. You always guh-get f*ckingbrrrapweird with the newbies,"

Tim slumped over, "I know. I still don't know why."

"It's because you're f*cking wuh-weird."

You examined his face again. Gauges in his cheeks, piercings lining his ears - he was rather young, maybe 24? How long had he been living like this? Especially with what Brian said - that he'd liked this the most.

Brian finally came back, a glass water pitcher in hand. A grandma had definitely lived here. He poured you a cup, handing it to Tim to help you drink.

"Here," he sat you upright so you wouldn't choke, greedily drinking down the cold water. It tasted kind of like sh*t, but it was refreshing on your very dehydrated body. If it weren't for the fact that your arms were made of Jell-o, you'd grab the glass yourself and slam that sh*t down. Instead, Tim pulled back, giving you a moment.

"So question asker, get asking," Brian said, moving back to the rocking chair to sit.

"Can you just start at the beginning?"

You sounded like a chain smoker and felt like one, too.

"The beginning is a lot, maybe more than you'd care to know," Brian said.

"Then why'd you ask?" you started, already irritated, "Fine, then tell me what that thing was instead. Thatbeginning. Start there."

They looked around at each other, seemingly settling in. They were going to do this.

"We don't know exactly what he is. Or who. He just is. He found us and picked each of us to be here." Tim began,"It was a bit different for each of us, but it started somewhat like you. Forgetting things, nose bleeds, seizures - he does all of that."

You interrupted, "So, you're saying he chose me to be one of you?"

To be honest, you weren't entirely sure what you'd meant by one of you, but you could feel the difference now. They always spoke about being a part of the team or joining them in some way. Had they meant you'd been picked to be a murderer?

"Not entirely, but when he attaches onto someone, we've found that you can change the outcome. He wanted you dead, you were a target, per se. We changed that."

"Why would he want me dead? Does it have to do with my job? I didn't do anything wrong."

"He doesn't care about right from wrong," Brian said, interrupting Tim, "he doesn't care about that at all. He just finds people. Sometimes good people: philanthropists, teachers, babysitters. Sometimes he chooses pieces of sh*t, thieves, and abusers. He doesn't have a bias. Until someone like you comes around."

"We think it does have to do with your job," Tim said, "but at some point, he seemed to change his mind about wanting you dead. I'm sorry but we did stress-test you about it. Needed to make sure you wouldn't go f*cking insane,"

Baffled, you didn't say anything. It sure as f*ck felt like you were going insane.

"So... all of that was you?" you muttered.

They were silent.

"Not all of it," Tim said, "sometimes he does his own things, too. It's like his own natural selection I guess."

"And I wasn't picked to be a murderer, but he wants me to be one now?"

Tim and Brian nodded while Toby remained stoic.

"What if I decide not to,"

"He'll splatter your f*cking brains across the ceiling," Toby said.

A sickening feeling in your gut returned.

"And he isn't human," you asked, "right?"

"No,"

How could any of it be real? You wanted to be dreaming, but you saw it last night. He had no face and he hurt you without even using his hands. There were implausible things he was capable of. You connected the dots in your brain.

"He's the reason Saul disappeared from the prison?"

"The Bellhouse's was all a small vendetta. Nothing really special to it," Brian told you.

How could something so important to your life be dismissible like that? You refused to believe it. A massacre and a man stolen from prison all chalked up to some f*cking scarecrow?

"And there's only three of you?"

"There's more of us. Even if we work for the same person, doesn't mean we all work hand-in-hand. We are his favorite little dolls to play with." Brian spoke.

The notion of that also failed to excite you. Favorite? You tried to scroll past it mentally and asked another question.

"So what is it this thing can actually do? Besidesmake us sick?"

"Teleportation, mind control, telepathy, mutilation - the list is endless really," Brian answered.

There was a lot on your metaphorical plate and Brian really started with teleportation. Again, you saw what he was and what he did to you, but it all seemed surreal.

"In particular, he really likes traumatizing you. You're a guilty soul."

Traumatized by Saul Bellhouse, the boy in the bathtub, and the officer at the cabin - it was all done by him. You craved answers but were so sickened you didn't want to hear another word. The four of you sat for a few moments, basking in your new reality.

"I don't think I want to hear anything else."

"That's alright," Tim said.

He really did seem different, too. When you had the chance, you'd ask him about what Toby meant by him being "weird" around the new people, but for now, you were ready to ignore it.

"Before we stop we need to make one thing clear," Brian said, "you've been marked. It's on your chest. It won't ever come off, now. He'll probably want you to start doing some f*cked up sh*t soon, but he'll give you a little bit of time to rest before that. Don't let it keep you up at night, it'll make fun of you for it."

"How could it not keep me up at night?"

"We'll take your mind off of it," Tim started, "this old lady had a wicked movie collection-"

He noticed your face drop. This lady who lived here, whom they killed. You could never forget.

"C'mon," he came to help you up, "we'll find something to watch. Dinner's on Brian."

Chapter 12: Gam-Gam's Shelf of Oddities

Chapter Text

Tim led you downstairs for the most awkward movie marathon of your life. To be fair, it couldn't be awkward when you felt half-dead, melting into the couch the entire time, but it was certainly uncomfortable being forced to spend quality time with the three boys. Tim played movie after movie the rest of the night, pulling one after the other from Gam-Gam's entertainment center - Gam-Gam being the lady who lived in this house. Of course, that wasn't her actual name, yet you felt the need to give her some sort of nickname. Some sort of connection to her (no matter how false) made everything feel far less terrible. It made youfeel far less terrible. Tim was right, she had been quite the little collector, sporting shelves packed full of DVDs and VHS tapes. It wasn't your idea, but the movies did somewhat distract you from the pain and suffering of the last few hours and more or less took away from the gravity of the situation. You were ignoring it for now, but sooner rather than later you'd have to come to terms with the ramifications.

Certain it would never end, your chest continued to burn. You tried to absorb yourself into the movies Tim picked, yet you couldn't quite manage through the pain. While you had wished you could fall asleep on the couch the way Toby did, you couldn't stop your brain from wondering what you had been marked with. The way Brian spoke about it drilled a hole through your gut.It won't ever come off, now.

The third movie was already halfway over, but you hadn't been paying any attention to the characters on the screen. You couldn't with how achy your body had been and how foggy your mind felt. With no clue what was going on, you excused yourself to the bathroom, with the assistance of Tim. Your legs had become so weak that you had no choice but to let him hold you up as you walked. Without him there, you would've rocked your sh*t. Taking meek, newborn steps, you stuffed yourself into the tiny bathroom. Tim was waiting for you outside, but curiosity was driving you mad. Staring back from a yellowed vintage mirror was yourself.

You looked like ass. Absolute ass. The person staring back at you was disheveled, with heavy baggage under their eyes and patchy skin from sh*tty sleep. You'd never seen yourself look so... homeless? So sad? Pitiful. Yes. Pitiful was the word. You looked pitiful.

With a tremble in your hands, you peeled up the bottom of your shirt to expose the wound. The brand. Seared into the flesh between your breasts was a simple crossed-out circle. Lameyou thought to yourself. However, the thought didn't prevent your legs from shaking at the view. Dropping the shirt down, you sat on the toilet seat to prevent yourself from fainting. The image was engrained in your memory: bright red against your skin and swelling up as if a hot metal rod created it. Why was such a little symbol so important?

Your vision began to spin. While you didn't think looking at it would make you feel better, you didn't expect it to make you feel horrible. You shifted, causing the toilet seat beneath you to squeak. Clearing your throat, you tried to push back your invasive thoughts. What if you touched it?Sure, it wasn't the most horrible thought you could be having right about now, but touching a brand-new wound was never a good idea. Running your hand under your shirt, you grazed the keloid. Flinching at the pain you stopped. You were filled with an odd sense of dread. A sensation that was distinct compared to anything you'd ever felt in the past. Something bad was going to happen.

In the same position, you sat for minutes waiting for the bad thing to happen, clenched up in fear - but it never came. Instead, you were interrupted by Tim's softrap-rappingat the door and his worried voice asking if you were okay.

"I'm fine!" you shouted out. It was far from the truth, but it was the best you could manage.

After a few moments, you left the bathroom. Again, Tim guided you, leading you back to your spot on the couch - which was now cold. For dinner, Brian used whatever he could from the kitchen. Taking an amalgamation of everything he could find, he simmered a hefty soup comprised of noodles, stock, and some fresh veggies. Fresh food was a pretty lucky find. The four of you were also blessed with Gam-Gam's well-stocked spice rack, which meant the soup wasn't bland. The four of you ate in the living room together, splayed across different loveseats and chaises that surrounded the T.V. You took your first bite and damn near cried. Hot soup was what your body craved and longed for. It was an escape from the snowy weather and ache in your bones.

The room was pin-drop silent, filled with the gentle ramblings from the TV and occasional soup slurping. You were the big grey elephant in the room - unable to be ignored. Before you knew it, the soup was gone and everyone had finished their fill. You sat in each other's company for a few moments before Tim got up from his chair and approached you.

"Since it's getting late, I think we outta get you to bed," Tim said standing over you, "We weren't joking about the rest thing. Get it while you can,"

"What you think you can give me a bedtime now?" Though you protested with your complaint, you reached out to him with an eagerness. You were ready to fall asleep in one of the plush beds you woke up in. Brian and Toby nodded to you as if to say their own wordless"goodnight".As Tim led you up the stairs you whispered, at most loud enough for Tim himself to hear.

"I'm sorry for stabbing you," you weren't sure if you did feel sorry. You still disliked all of them. They dragged you into this and more, but for now, the apology was the least you could give. You already bit the hand that feeds you. If Tim weren't here to baby you, you'd be even more depressed and pathetic than you are now.

Cackling, Tim stopped in his tracks.

"What?" you asked, but he laughed harder, wheezing until his face flushed red, "what's so funny?"

Instead of responding, Tim continued guiding you up the stairs. "I don't understand,"

"It's all good," he said, "more to come I'm sure. I deserved it I bet."

"Toby was spot on about what he said earlier. What's your deal? You seem so..." you squinted, looking at him up and down. Tim didn't seem to be the same man but to be fair he never was a consistent person in your presence. He was always changing and shifting into someone else. "-How did you even survive that anyway? I was sure I'd killed you. I saw it go straight through your skin. I had your blood on my hands."

Somehow, what you said set him into another laughing fit. Tears brimmed his eyes by the time he managed to get you up to your bedroom - the same one you woke up in. With gentle hands, he helped you sit on the mattress. In all the confusion, you realized you never asked how Tim managed to survive the ordeal. You doubted that Toby and Brian had the skills or resources to heal him up, too.

"It takes a lot more than that to kill one of us. Don't you remember what Brian said earlier?" he helped you lean back, setting up extra pillows behind your head and beneath your legs, "mutilation, teleportation, the list goes on. Regeneration isn't out of the question. I think it's used more than anything else."

"Regeneration?" the words fell off your lips like a foreign language as he propped you up.

"Can't fight a war with no army. Don't think too hard about it though."

"So it's as if it never happened? It all just healed over?" you asked.

He gave you a small nod, "Yup. Like it never happened."

As if to prove it, he looped the top few buttons on his shirt open, enough to show you his chest. Underneath a large patch of brown hair, was normal flesh. No puncture wounds, no redness, not even a scar. It was as if it never happened.

"It'll happen a lot slower for you though, so don't do anything stupid. It's healed my flesh and bones over and over so many times I'm not even close to being the same person anymore. Yet it knows how to fuse me back together to a T. With you, it will be slow and deliberate. Far more painful, but it's no miracle. It never stops hurting."

"You've died before?" He fixed his shirt.

"So many times. I've lost count." As he spoke, he resumed his work and laid a blanket over your body. You'd be amazed if you weren't so scared. It couldn't be true. There was no way Tim had died before. He must be f*cking with you. How long were you asleep anyway?

"It's okay. We'll talk more about this in the morning. You'll feel better then, too. It's a lot to think about all at once. We'll give you as much time as we can."

Glancing back at the window, the two of you watched as more snow fell.

"It's gonna be another cold one," he said, "I'll bring you a thicker blanket."

Across the room, he rummaged through a kitschy cabinet and pulled down a blanket.

"Feel free to grab it if you get cold," he said, placing it folded up on the corner of the bed.Soft footsteps trailed away from you and stopped once he stood in the doorway. He held the doorknob with a dainty touch as he stared back at you.

"What happens tomorrow?" you asked.

"I wish I could say, but I'll be there. Sleep well," he said, closing the door as he left.

The silence in the room left you feeling hopeless. There was a thickness in the air; a full stop. Your fate was sealed and held in someone else's hands - some being you did not even know. Unease stirred in your gut as you ruminated over every fine detail. You were lying in molasses, thick and suffocating. Warm tears streamed down your face. Were you ever going home?

That was the question. It had been since you've been gone. Was there ever going to be a light at the end of this tunnel? You rubbed the tears away, letting them dry onto your skin. Even though you had much on your mind, you shimmied onto your side and slept.

The night passed into day quicker than you imagined. You managed to get decent sleep due to your exhaustion alone - both from the crying and from days prior. Sun streamed through your window and birdsong rang from outside. Pulling the covers off and sitting up, you swung your legs off the edge of the bed. You felt leagues better than yesterday. The pain was much more manageable, but your body still ached here and there. The wound on your chest took most of the spotlight and was still sore and tight, similar to a fresh cut. It was itchy, but you did your best to resist scratching until it bled.

Curious as you sat, you swung your legs back and forth. They felt fine. You weren't too keen on waiting for Tim and you sure as hell weren't going to call for him to help you. That'd be embarrassing. Testing the water, bit by bit you stood on your feet. While it still felt like you'd been hit by a truck, you could stand! That was a clear success in your book.

Shuffling forward like a newborn deer, you braced your arms out in front of you. Once you made it to the window sill, you leaned against it with a white-knuckled grip. Small snow flurries fell from the morning sky, coating the ground in powdery snow. You were aching for spring. From your view on the second floor, you could see miles of farmland in front of you. It must have been quite nice when the plants weren't all dying and when cicadas and fireflies surrounded the farmhouse.

"Quiet here isn't it?" Brian's voice from behind made you jump.

"Sorry," he continued, "It is quaint though. Cozy?"

"How long are we gonna be staying here?" you asked.

"Not so sure myself. Never am. Always changing. Guess it depends on how much family this lady has."

Frowning, you looked over to him.

"I bet you're wondering what's next?" he spoke for you.

"I mean duh. I guess I'm a little confused. Now that I got this thing on me-" you gestured towards your chest, "I'm simply supposed to be buddy-buddy with you guys? None of that changed the past fewmonthsof my life, you know? You can't seriously expect me to be all sunshine and rainbows."

Brian nodded in response, listening as you vented. As you stopped, he began, "I can't say I understand how you feel, but you will grow into it. It makes everything easier for all of us. The bond we share makes everything easier."

"I don't feel abond. You seem to forget what you've all done to me."

"To be fair, we had no way to know you'd be chosen in the end..."

"... how does that make any of this better? All because you think it wasn't your fault."

"Why would I let myself get attached to someone I'll have to kill later?"

"Tim was attached. You can't deny that"

"It was nothing like that. It was a punishment."

"Do you forget that I have no idea how any of this sh*t works? If you're gonna say something so ridiculous you need to explain."

"That's fair," he smiled, "Tim always gets attached. The better the bond the better things go. The moreitseems to be okay with choosing to mark and turn someone. The less we know someone, the more likely they'll get tossed out and the more likely we have to get rid of them,"

"So it's a stereotypical 'they know too much so we have to kill them' situation? Why doesn't he use its amnesia powers to make the-" you paused, struggling to find the right words.

"Candidate?" Brian offered.

"Why doesn't he use his powers to make a candidate forget everything that happened?"

"Once you've been touched by this sickness, you're never the same. You can't go back to the way you were. If he makes you forget, you'd still die a miserable death. When we do it, it's a mercy kill. Chances are his influence will kill them off anyway, so might as well do it ourselves when we can. Plus, that's not as easy to cover up as a murder."

"Murder isn't easy to cover up!" you yelled.

"You were at the crime scene. Did that look well covered?"

His smirk felt sickening. It felt wrong, but he was right. It was well covered and there was not much to point to them at all.

"It was still an obvious homicide, though. Murders get investigated. That makes it harder for you, doesn't it?"

"What I mean to say is it's easier on the eyes to track random murders that seem disconnected than it is to see a couple of people die of the same unknown disease."

"Okay fine, but what are the odds of that ever happening? What are the odds of them tracking it to thisthing?" The word fell out of your mouth with venom. Thisthing.This monster that's trying to turn you into one of them.

"It's not about them finding out what he is and what he does. It's more of them finding out who we are. That's when we get into trouble. No government program or weapon of mass destruction can kill it. Do you think no one's tried that? Nothing can touch it, but we have no choice but to protect ourselves. If someone looked into it and started connecting the dots... I don't know. It was a decision we made a long time ago and there's no turning it back."

By this point, Brian had moved beside you, also looking out the window at the rural plains beneath the two of you. He closed in the gap, leaning against the edge of the window.

"So the better the bond the better it goes," you repeated his words, "Why Tim? Why not you? You said it was punishment and that you'd be forced to kill those who aren't chosen. What does that mean?"

"It has this sick sense of humor. It's something you have to see firsthand to understand. I can't pin point when it started happening, maybe sometime before Kate, but I'm not sure. I wasn't marking on my calendar 'the day Tim started being weird'. Tim started getting very emotionally attached out of nowhere. Would cry after bludgeoning a failed candidate's head in; thought he knew some of them, too. Seeing him talk with some of 'em, you'd be convinced they'd known each other for years. He never did."

"So this Kate girl. Where's she now?" you asked.

Brian's eyes were full of thought as if he had some regrets involving this "Kate" girl.

"Kate? Deader than us."

"Did Tim kill her, too?"

"No."

You found yourself temporarily washed over with relief. Of course, you felt pity for the dead girl named Kate, but at least Tim didn't have to do it.

"Who did?"

"It gave up on her. It had heavy consideration for her. Even marked her and everything - just like you. I guess she wasn't a good enough match for him. Kate was with us for maybe five months or so. Got caught up real bad on a hit she did. Didn't make it out alive, but that isn't a normal problem for us. Regeneration gets you through that, but he refused to do it for her. Let her rot there instead until she was gone long enough for us to get worried."

Maybe Tim killing her would've been a better fate.

"How long was that?" you asked.

Brian shrugged, shifting on his feet, "maybe two weeks."

"That's awful. Two weeks? How could you forget her?"

"We didn't forget," he told you, "it isn't unusual to be bounced back and forth and end up missing for days. That doesn't mean we didn't look for her for the time being. It wanted us to do other things. I reckon it never wanted us to find her, but I think that would've been too kind of it."

Frown fixed upon your face, he continued, "You know, we cared for Kate. We did. I know it makes us sound like assholes, but you have to trust me."

"You're saying this bond is what made it all successful? For Kate?"

"And you."

"Did he love her, too? Was none of this genuine? Did he promise a life together? Did he f*ck her?"

The air grew quiet. You felt pity for dead girl Kate. You felt pity for yourself, too. If she hadn't died, you wondered if the two of you would get along. I'd be nice to have a female presence around. Tim's love for you felt so trite and distant, so unimaginative now. Had he given Kate a Christmas gift, too? A metal pin? Would Kate be the type of person to ram it into his chest? Shaking your head, you wondered why you even cared in the first place, given your situation. There were so many reasons not to care, yet the thought still wrenched a knife through your heart. Why did the thought of Tim not loving you hurt? Why did it hurt more than him loving you? Was thishissick work, trying to keep the bond between you and Tim alive? Was that all you were meant to be? A trauma bond?

"That wasn't how it was at all," Brian said, voice filled with care.

"I don't believe you."

Brian smirked, "That's alright. You're allowed to think that."

"Because I have absolutely no reason to like or trust you. Are you gonna let me die the same way she did?"

"Not if we can help it," he frowned, "but we never had a choice with Kate. I don't blame you for not trusting us."

For some reason, Brian admitting it made you angrier. You didn't want him to agree with you, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to kick and scream and bite his fingers off. After all this, how dare he have the gall to agree with you?

"No reason to trust us," Brian began, "it's the reason why you stabbed him. No reason to be fond of someone who's traumatized you and pushed you down into a puddle of blood, right?"

"What point are you trying to get at?"

"Hey, if we're gonna be stuck together forever might as well try and get along?"

"Why couldn't you start earlier?"

Instead of answering, Brian shrugged.

"All this talking's making my mouth dry," you said, shuffling with a pathetic limp as you made your way to the bedroom door.Brian offered his arm for you to hold, but you snubbed him waddling over no matter how much you ached.

"I can make you a cup of coffee. There's so much more to discuss now that you've rested up."He trailed behind you. You imagined he was watching to see if you'd fall as you made your way down the stairs.

"How much more could we even talk about?"

"I'm sure there's something. We're going to be living together now aren't we?"

"We already were," you reminded him.

It may have taken you 5 minutes to get to the ground floor, but when you did you waddled with a pep in your step. To your surprise, Tim and Toby were already awake, both off to their own devices. Tim straightened up as you entered the room, "Let me help." He rose to your side, but you pushed him away. Brain trailed straight to the kitchen.

"Wan' a 'nother cup, Tim?" he pulled a mug from Gam-Gam's cupboard. Tim nodded and a second cup came down.

"Did you sleep well enough?" Tim asked as you sat on the couch.

"It was fine. Slept like a rock,"

Ceramic cups knocked against each other as Brian made the coffee: Tim's pitch black and yours (the same/sweet and sugary), as you liked to enjoy it. You ignored how he knew without asking, assuming it was information Tim gave away.

"That's good. And the mark?" Tim asked.

"I haven't looked but it feels better. Less searing."

He seemed relieved that you were doing well, which only reminded you of your conversation with Brian. You resisted every urge to ask him about Kate, but you felt it would be a disservice to her soul. You should let her rest. You'd talk to him about it at another time. Or not. You weren't sure how you felt about any of this, but whining and pouting wouldn't help.

"Sometime soon - I imagine - you're gonna have your first job," Tim started as Brian served your coffees.

"What?"

"You know. You certainly didn't forget what we do, did you?" Brian said.

Your stomach rose into your chest. Yes, you hadn't forgotten, but you had failed to put two and two together.

You had been chosen, which meant you were expected to kill people - the catch being if you didn't you would die. That was the hand you were dealt. You didn't speak, contemplating the few options you had. Maybe you should risk it all and resist. You'd rather die than spend your life killing others. Maybe in this scenario, dying wouldn't be so bad? You wouldn't have to lay your fingers on another soul. That didn't sound too bad.

Toby smirked from a loveseat across the room face filled with wordless bliss. You weren't sure what he was so happy about, but given the blood puddle situation, he couldn't be thinking up anything good. What he agreed to in the car made you feel even worse.

"How will you know?" you asked.

"You'll know when you feel it."

You rolled your eyes, "Nothing is ever straightforward with you people."

"I know. You'll feel it: an unease in your gut and an intrusive thought in your head telling you with specifics where to go, what to do, and what not to do. You're lucky you have us to guide you. Others aren't so lucky when trying to figure it out on their own. On the outside, it might seem like OCD or some other illness, but its influence is irresistible. Someone with OCD has the general ability to avoid their intrusive thoughts. They might think about hurting someone, but they never would. They worry over the possibility. That is not how his influence feels. You won't be able to resist. That's how you'll know." Tim informed you.

"We all have different perceptions, so your experience will be unique to ours," Brian said.

"Personally, it makes me tired and enraged. Sometimes I try and get it over with just so I can sleep it off quicker."

"Makes me horny," Toby shrugged.

Speechless.

"C'mon, man. You're gonna scare her off." Brian leaned back in his chair, but you didn't miss the corner of his mouth perking up into a grin as if everything was all one big joke.

"What about you?" you directed the question to him.

"I don't feel anything."

"Bullsh*t." you sipped on your coffee, "stop trying to be edgy."

"Real though. I feel nothing."

"I kn-nuh-know you feel that excitement run down your spine freak. You c-c-can't hide that." Toby's voice rang out monotone and lazy as he stuttered over his words.

"I don't wanna hear any more of it." You rested your head in the crook of your arm. If you found out Tim got a kick out of this too, you'd cry. What would that mean for you? The thought made your stomach churn. You don't wanna become some sick freak like them.

"Wouldn't it m-muh-make you lucky to find enjoyment in suh-such a sh*tty timeline?" Toby posited, "I mean if I blew chunks every time I cracked someone's head open-" he made a sound between a growl and a bark- "life would be that much more miserable. Such a shame, really. Such a shame. Such a shuh-shame."

"I'm not some pervert creep."

"Pervert creep," Toby repeated.

"Okay!" Tim interrupted, "The point is. When the time does come, we'll come with. Usually, that's what he wants, but if not, we'll still keep an eye out for you. Make sure nothing goes too wrong and give you support."

Great. The homicide support group was here to save the day. You stared at your mug, unsure if you wanted to chug the whole thing or let it sit to get cold. A little caffeine might be enough to make you vomit.

"I think what I need right now is some time to myself." you understand that Brian led you in here to chat, but with all the talk about not overwhelming yourself, it seemed ass-backward. Nothing that had happened to you felt real at all. Maybe you were hallucinating all of this and you'd wake up later in another hotel room? Both concepts made you nauseous, but at least in one, you wouldn't have to be a murderer.

Trying your best, you take another sip of the coffee. You knew where they were coming from: they wanted you to be ready but they also didn't want you to worry yourself into some kind of panic attack. Haven't they heard of the stages of grief? You hadn't even left denial - you were entitled to all five stages in order! It was your given right!

"That's understandable, but I want to get some ground rules out of the way - no murder talk involved."

The word"murder" flew off Brian's tongue with ease.

"Okay. Let's get it over with." the thought of homicidal maniacs having house rules seemed so silly, but since you were expected to be living here you didn't mind.

"No social media. At least, nothing that can get you caught. I couldn't give a f*ck if you went to a public library and watched a fish documentary, but no personal profiles, obviously."

Alright. That's okay. It's not like you've touched social media in the past few weeks anyway. You could hang. Shame washed over your body as you realized that you'd be fine never seeing your friends again if you were to do such vile things.

"Also, clean up after yourself. If you're unable to, we can do it for you, but for the time being, stay responsible for what's yours and eventually, we'll delegate tasks to you," Brian continued, "Tim and I alternate days cooking and Toby is always responsible for vacuuming or sweeping. Other than that, everything else is split up between the three of us. We don't stay anywhere for too long, so any deep cleaning is all up to your personal preference. But we won't be participating."

Good. You didn't have any disagreements with that.

"And as a side note, we don't allow any filth. So if you come back from a mission, you're responsible for cleaning it up in a timely manner. Keep the place blood-free."

"What Brian means is that he's a guh-germaphobe who can't stand-duh the smell of gore. It's luh-like a doctor who faints at the sight of blood."

They didn't do so well at avoiding the murder talk as Brian said they would. With a scrunched face, you decided you hated calling a mission - as if it was some religious duty. This wasn't a cult, was it?

"Sorry. Ignore him," Tim said, "like Brian said: clean up after yourself and you'll be fine. No arguments."

"Any other rules?" you were growing impatient and antsy in such company. You decided you were going to ignore every single aspect of this f*cked up reality until it was standing two feet in front of you. Yet, the three boys were sitting so close and it was f*cking with your vibes. You couldn't ignore it while staring at their faces.

"Unless you have anything else to add, that's what I have for now," Brian informed you.

"I want to take a long hot shower, I think. Is there any rule on that? How will you guys pay the water bill for this place anyway?"

"Chances are I'll be able to find something out. If not, we'll have an alternative solution. Running warm water is a luxury, but it's a luxury we want to have, so don't worry too much about it. If we do get in a situation without it, it isn't on purpose, but our lives aren't easy."

You were thankful that Brian did not want you to stink.

"That settles it then?" leaving your coffee, you stood up little by little.

"Need help to the bathroom?" Tim offered.

"No," you were lucky enough that there was a shower downstairs, "but can you grab a spare change of clothes from me? I don't want to take two trips up the stairs."

He nodded, heading up to your room as you waddled to take your shower. The winter air nipped at your skin as you stripped down your layers. The sterile bathroom tile you stood on made you chillier. Turning the faucet on, you waited as the water took its time warming up. The sound of water hitting the tile was relaxing - something about its repetitive nature, loud enough to wash out your thoughts. Soon after getting in, Tim knocked on the door and placed your clothes neatly on the counter.

Using the soap and hair products available, you cleaned yourself over and over again, rinsing and scrubbing and repeating until you had felt refreshed. After the fifth time washing yourself, you were relieved enough to stop and give your skin a break. It was only then that you realized how tired you still were and recognized how much the shower allowed you to relax and focus on something different.

Once you were finished sitting under the stream of water, you wrapped yourself in a towel and sat on the toilet seat until you air-dried. It wasn't pleasant, but getting dressed felt too exhausting, even though the pajamas Tim picked out for you looked so warm and cozy. You sat there until the towel you wrapped around your shoulders did nothing to help your violent shivering. You were left with no option but to stand and weave your legs one by one into your pants. Careful not to fall and crack your skull open, you managed. After slipping on your sweatshirt, you opened the door. All of the steam from your shower had dissipated, but the fresh air was ice on your skin.

"Took you long enough," Toby greeted you from the couch, reading out of a small paperback book cradled in his hands.

"It wasn't that long."

"Two ow-hours?"

You shrugged in response, "I was dirty - Brian's orders?"

"Whatever. They went out to do some sh*t. Buy a generator or something. Cuh-can't remember."

The house had felt still.

"So just you and me, huh? I still think I'm gonna go upstairs and rest. I'm tired."

"Same. So, how do you thuh-think you're guh-gonna do it? I know you're a pig, but you don't seem the gun type, ya know?" he threw his head back, ignoring your request to f*ck off and get some sleep.

"What's your deal, huh?"

"Really? That's low of you, coming from someone suh-so self-righteous. Never thought you'd make fun of afreakdisabled man. I have Tourette's, cuh-clearly."

"No, that's not what I mean at all. I don't care about any of that. I mean why are you such a dick?"

"Not nearly as much of a dick as Brian is, truthfully. He's cuh-cold-hearted, for sure. And I cuh-called you a pig be-cuh-cause you were a cop. Not for any other reason. I don't like cops, is all." he shrugged, putting down the same sudoku book he was "reading" in the car. Asshole didn't even have a pen.

Though you listened to him ramble, you could barely agree with him. Yes, Brian could be an asshole, but he didn't seem as bad as Toby. Maybe it was how outspoken Toby was about being horny for gore and violence, but Brian seemed to have a soft side instead. Toby hadn't shown you any of that. Instead, he was blunt, standoffish, and frankly kind of gross. Plus, you weren't quite a cop, you worked beside them.

"But it's true. Don't seem to be a gun person. But I fuh-feel like knives would be too personal for someone like you. So what gives?"

"Stop trying to get a read on me, it's making me uncomfortable. I can't even wrap my head around the thought of killing someone. Can you let me figure that part out first?"

"Okay, but you have to kill people. With something. Suh-so what is it?"

"I don't know, I haven't thought it that far out."

"You should,"

"I don't want to."

"Maybe it'll make it easier for you," he suggested, "getting familiar with the idea, so it doesn't feel so strange to hit some-freak-one over the head with a huh-hammer."

"What do you suggest, then?" you offered, chest bubbling with rage. He thought for a few moments.

"You could strangle someone?" you almost choked as he spoke. You couldneverchoke someone. "I know it sounds intense, but it's the least buh-bloody way to do it. Buh-bit more of a struggle th-though and a bit more p-personal. Kinda intimate? Sure takes luh-longer than stabbing someone in the gut, though."

"I don't think that'll work for me. What is it that you use?" you regretted the words as soon as they came out. You didn't care what he used. None of it should matter to you, but he spoke regardless.

"Hatchets. Good for sluh-slashing. And hacking. Buh-best of both worlds. Brian doesn't let me around guh-guns anymore. I shot him in the ass once. He thinks it was bad impulse control - an accident. From the tics. I did it on purpose." Toby gave you a small smirk. You imagined that Brian did deserve being shot in the ass, but you didn't want to egg Toby's violence on.

"I don't think I'd be a hatchet person, either."

"I guess it'll juh-just come as it guh-goes then?"

You guess. To be honest, you didn't see how pre-planning your murder weapon of choice would make things any easier. Toby did beat you in pure experience. Still, you didn't have the heart for such a thing.

"Are you only listening to me talk because you can't make it up the stairs by yuh-yourself?"

"... no."

Hanging your head, your body swayed back and forth as you made your way to the staircase. Toby didn't do so much as twitch as he watched you take your time making your way up the first three steps. Swift hands reached around your waist as he came to your side.

"It'll be dark by th-the time you get uh-up."

"Don't pity me," you joked.

Wordless, he led you up the stairs. You sure were eager for the day you no longer had to be babysat.

Chapter 13: Splitting Headache

Chapter Text

cw: bodily fluids and murder obvi(?)

The next few days flew by in a blur. Most of your time was spent sleeping, watching movies, and eating the various dishes Brian and Tim took turns making. From time to time, you'd find the energy to shower, but that had been a rarity - especially with the sh*tty shampoo the boys bought for you (which you were pretty sure was making you bald, but that was a legal battle you didn't want to get into). All of the money Brian and Tim had was spent on bulk food and water. With the limited budget, you lived off of soups, stews, and chili.

Unlike the days before, you spent most of your time by yourself, actually getting rest instead of chatting away with the boys. Though they didn't bother you much, you could tell they still had a lot to say, especially regarding the near future.It was all you could think about as your scar healed over.

Each day that passed, the anxiety over the situation grew heavier, chewing away at your subconscious. Some days, you could barely manage to get out of bed even if you had wanted to. Quite literally, you were gripped with fear - spending all your energy clenching your teeth and trying to bury yourself under your duvet drenched in a cold sweat. It had never worked; never saved you from your situation, but it did waste your time faster than ever. You stood by idly, unable to act as you watched the hours slip between your fingers like grains of sand. With each minute, you were one step closer to being a monster and there was nothing you could do about it.

At one point, you were convinced that you could pinch yourself out of this nightmare. You had to be dreaming, but your dream had already been going on for so long. When did you fall asleep?

On occasion, late at night, you would try to wake yourself. The stillness of the house and distant snoring buzzed around your brain as you pulled at your flesh between sharp fingernails. Even as you indented your skin and drew blood, you repeated over and over again until your fingers grew numb and sticky and stained themselves red. Your nightmare was never going to end. sh*tty as it was, you were stuck here. However, that could not change how bizarre the situation was.

To you, it made no sense how thatthingwas able to give orders and instructions. It had no mouth to speak with. Brian and Tim explained to you that it was a feeling, not words, but that was hard enough to wrap your head around. You wondered if the feeling was anything like what you had felt a few days earlier in the bathroom. After touching your scar - that sensation of dread and hopelessness mixed with regret. Or maybe a few months back, when that boy's body had been dumped into your apartment's bathtub. By now, it had become a vague memory, but the image of the boy was ingrained into your sight, no matter how long it had been. Every time you blinked, you saw him - the smell practically materializing out of thin air.

As you relived the incident, you remembered feeling strange in the moment, but that could've easily been the stress of the situation. Still, maybe being left in the dark was best for your situation. You weren't ready to learn via experience. It could wait one more day. The thought of murdering someone was terrorizing you. Had this been the beckoning Tim and Toby had described to you? Have you already been under its influence without realizing it? The way they had explained it, it sounded like the sensation would be irresistible. Trying to ignore the feeling, you told yourself you would ask them later. Instead, time fleeted and not a word had been said concerning any of your worries.

By now, you had been fully healed up for a day or two. After experimenting, you discovered you could touch and prod at the puffy scar without any irritation or searing pain following it. This information caused the house to grow restless. All of you spent your days passing time, waiting until it beckoned you to kill on its behalf. Toby seemed thrilled; in a better mood than you had ever seen him in. You tried not to think about that too much. Brian and Tim were far less positive about the situation. While they weren't open about how they felt, you noticed how their sleep got worse and how Brian ate far less than usual. Their changed behavior did not go unseen.

While you waited, you tried your best to get accustomed to the idea, but you knew it would never stick. You were not a murderer. It wasn't in your nature and it wasn't what you stood for. Even though you would be fine waiting months or years for anything to happen, Kate changed your mind. Knowing what had happened to her, you knew your chances of being thrown out were there. You didn't want to end up like Kate. If it waited forever expecting you to do something, maybe it'd grow tired of you and ditch you to die a slow and painful death. Dying didn't sound so bad, but your fate being inhishands made you feel sick. You didn't want to be left to die alone. Kate even thought she'd be coming back, but itabandoned her.

It was cruel. Demented.

On a separate occasion, you considered the possibility of running away from it all. Perhaps, if you just left everything behind things would magically remedy themselves. The thought alone was repulsive and you couldn't place why. You did miss home and you so desperately wanted to go back. Your heart ached thinking about karaoke nights with John and Kari; all of the times you got hammered off of over-priced booze and binged on sushi. Tears streamed down your face as you imagined just one more night alone in your apartment. One more night alone drinking hot chocolate by yourself late Christmas Eve. Worse was, even if you tried to replicate it, it would never be the same.

The time and activity did not matter. You could get wasted by yourself, drink hot chocolate, and maybe even spend Christmas Eve alone but nothing could come close to the way things were. Nothing you adequately replace what you had. That could be why ithad chosen you. It wanted to mold you like putty into the antithesis of yourself.

As soon as your mind wandered and the thought of slipping away came into question, violent panic would overcome you. Breathless, an invisible dagger in your gut told you it couldn't happen. You could not run away. Though you were unsure why, you were terrified of the consequences - and as they say: trust your gut. Running wasn't an option.

Why was going home so difficult?

Regardless, you tried to push past the longing and waited and waited, finding yourself left home alone with Toby more often than not. Tim and Brian would disappear often, heading out to do menial tasks such as grocery shopping and other errands - some of which were never disclosed to you. it seemed neither you nor Toby were ever invited.

"Nothing yet?" Toby asked you, hands hidden in his pockets as he leaned against the wall.

You had been lounging on one of Gam-Gam's loveseats, staring at the ceiling into nothing until the space warped and small shapes and patterns bent. You have watched too many old Westerns and had nothing left to entertain yourself.

"No, nothing. Do you actually think I'm lying about this? I don't feel any different at all. I feel normal."

Toby made his way over to you, his form engulfing your sight, "I duh-don't think you're lying," he spoke, leaning over you, "It's weird as f*ck thuh-though. That's a long time for himto wait for someonehe'salready picked.Freak!Did you decide how you're gonna do it yet?"

"What? Oh, you mean killing people? No, Toby, I haven't thought about it," you spat the words out with venom, but it fell on deaf ears. Toby was unbothered, "I'm just gonna leave it up to spontaneity."

Just like everything else - you'd figure it out when you got there.

"I'll definitely be there then. Can't miss that."

Closing your eyes, you tried to ignore him but you could feel his presence in the room with you. The thought of Toby popping a boner while watching your first kill made you feel even worse. You weren't gonna let that sick f*ck watch.

"You really are a f*cking freak," you said.

"Yeah. I am. But one day after maybe the tenth or twentieth time you're gonna like it, too. Cuh-can't spend forever wallowing in your guilt."

You didn't say anything in response, trying not to feed his ego, but Toby went on unprompted, "Plus, I need to see you do it. That's huh-how I know you're committed. Then I can give a sh*t about you. Think of it like an initiation. Having a license doesn't muh-make you a car owner."

"I think that's more like 1950's fraternity hazing."

"Suh-same difference,"

Opening your eyes, Toby was still - unfortunately - staring down from above you.

"So. What's your stuh-st-story. You have a family you're disappointing or something?"

"Hasn't Tim told you all of this already?" you asked.

"No. I would want to hear it from you anyway."

"Just some coworkers I'm friends with. That's all."

"Coworkers? How lame. You didn't huh-have friends from high school or anything?"

"Moved away."

"A dog? A fish?" you shook your head to each.

"Duh-damn," he struggled to get the word out, stuttering over and over, but you let him finish, "at least no one's gonna miss you."

"That's not true!" you shot up as you argued with him, "Just because they're my coworkers doesn't mean they're not my friends!"

"I think that's exactly whuh-what that means." you noticed that throughout the conversation, he had been ticcing rather frequently.

"You're telling me you didn't even have anybody? No relationships?" he asked.

"That's none of your business."

Toby laughed at you, "It's fine just say yuh-you're an incel-"

The front door unlocking interrupted your conversation, Brian and Tim came inside with a small pile of firewood.

"That all you guh-got?" Toby teased at the four logs Brian held in his arms.

"The rest is outside dipsh*t," Brian spoke matter-of-factly, tossing the logs together beside the fireplace. From the loveseat, you watched as they settled themselves, Brian quickly stripping off his winter coat and unlacing his boots. Tim however, stood still, staring at you expectantly. For a moment, you started back.

"The fire should keep us nice and cozy. You know the rules though, Toby" Brian spoke.

"No fire privileges. Bleh,"

From the door, Tim still stared at you, now shuffling and looking down at his feet.

"What is it?" you asked him.

"Wanna go on a walk? Or sit on the porch? Anything really. I know you need some fresh air. Sun's still out," as he asked, he motioned his head towards the door. You looked between everyone. Toby didn't give you any acknowledgment, yet Brian looked invested in your response.

"I guess I have a moment." you shifted to your feet from your spot on the couch and walked over to the door. Tim waited for you as you laced up your shoes and put on your coat. You still didn't have winter boots, but at least you weren't stuck in Montana anymore.

Once you were ready, he held the door open for you as you walked out onto the porch. The old floorboards squeaked beneath you. You motioned to Gam-Gam's porch swing, "over here okay?" and sat down without a response. Tim followed, sitting next to you. The two of you were close, legs touching together. The swing didn't offer much room. You could feel the heat emanating from him. The cold air wouldn't keep you around for long. You sat in each other's company for a moment, nothing to say. It was then that you realized how stuffy the house had been.

"Something's been weighing on my chest lately." your words came out so suddenly.

"Oh? Did you want to talk about it?"

Did you? Of course, you did, but gathering the courage to do so was hard. It seemed like everything you talked about lately led straight back to thisthing. You had a feeling this would be the same, but one could hope.

"I didn't kill that guy. Back when you helped me," you started, "before all of this when there was that guy in my bathtub and I didn't know what to do - that. You thought that was me but it wasn't. I couldn't let it boil inside me any longer."

Tim didn't say anything, so you continued.

"I mean - you said that I said I killed him, but I didn't! When I made that phone call I was so terrified - I barely remember what happened. And now that things are different I need you to know that I didn't kill him. Really. Even if I said something like that, I need you to believe me that it wasn't like that. And now that I've got to thinking, maybe it has something to do with... you know."

Tim was still speechless and you listened to the sound of the swing creaking as you anxiously waited for him to say something.

"I know you didn't kill anybody."

You were relieved, but furious at the same time, "What?"

"I know you didn't kill any-"

"I know what you said - I heard you," you interrupted, "but you gave me so much sh*t over this. Why didn't you say anything earlier? I didn't kill anybody, Tim. I needed you to know that because - what's supposed to happen soon - I've never done before! I don't know how any of this is supposed to work and honestly, none of this feels real."

With Tim silenced, you continued to listen to the creaks of the swing as you went back and forth.

"I still don't understand what's going on with you. You're completely different than I thought you were. When I first met you, you were so sweet and then you shifted into something manipulative and toxic, but now you're back to being all sweet with me. Not a fake-sweet like you were. This? All this seems genuine. I really need you to tell me what's going on. Who are you?"

"I'm sorry. I know this all seems confusing, but I don't remember."

The hearty rumble of Toby and Brian's laughs are muffled from inside. At least they were having fun in there.

"What do you mean you don't remember? The bathtub? The body? You were there. You carried it and you drove my car."

"I believe you, I promise. But to be honest, I barely remember the day we met."

Head thumping, you slumped down. Here you were - worrying about it all - and he didn't even remember you. It was more than discouraging. It was devastating.

"Well then, what do you remember?" you prodded.

"Most is what I've learned from Brian. Which, you know him-" you didn't, "I know about the body. I know about the hairpin and bits and pieces about why we left the old cabin in Montana. But if you asked me about how I felt in those moments... I can't say. I simply wasn't there."

"You're such a liar!" you shoved your arms into him, hands thumping against his chest as you shot up from your seat on the bench, "we were alone when we buried him! It was just you and me and you said you would keep it between us. How could Brian find out about that?"

Pained with shock and disgust, before you could storm off, Tim grabbed your sleeve, "Wait, wait. I know it's terrible, but listen. Brian was there. Do you think that nosy bastard could keep to himself while all of this was going on? He was watching. I don't remember much of anything. I promise you."

To be frank, you weren't sure how to feel. Why couldn't things be easy?

"Remember what we all spoke to you about? The thingsitcan do? I didn't forget by choice. I'd love to know what we did together and how it's hurting you but I don't recall and I'm sorry. All I need is for you to forgive me, which is asking a lot. I know. I've done this before. It hurts me too," he explained.

"It feels like everything that happens,ithas some sh*tty plot armor to keep you safe."Sitting back down beside him, you wondered if he was talking about Kate, but the thought only made you feel sick. You didn't want to think about what Tim and Kate were, even if Brian had promised you that they weren't together.

"What are we?" you whimpered.

"I thought you wanted to slow down?" he asked. Yes? No? Maybe? You had no clue! Before it felt like things were moving way too fast in a direction you didn't like and now you weren't even sure if you two were even a thing anymore. Tim didn't even remember you - how could he even like you anymore? All of the emotions you had about your first time together were moot. Were you starting over - if that were even possible? Did you have the energy to start over? If there were more stakes involved, if there was more than puppy crush, maybe you could. Toby thought of you as a pathetic, loveless loser and he was right. You didn't seem very good at this.

Neither of you had made an effort to sit down and talk about it before because your relationship was not much. Now, here the two of you were, finally finding an opportunity to do so and you had no answers. Mulling over this in your brain was not easy; coming up with a response for Tim was impossible.

"I don't know what I want right now," you told him the truth. You couldn't see yourself lying your way out of the situation, so you had no choice but to let him know: you were on the fence. Tim probably wasn't good for you considering he was essentially your kidnapper, yet you were lonely. You missed companionship.

"I like you a lot," Tim spoke, your name falling sweet like honey off of his lips. His southern accent always peaked when least convenient for you.

"How can you even be sure of that? You don't even know me."

Though you were sitting next to him, you refused to do so much as glance in his direction. Instead, you stared out into nothing, letting the wind (which was now picking up) nip at your ears and nose. Beside you, Tim didn't speak as you raked your eyes over the cornfields. They were the same ones you had run through about a week and a half earlier when you had tried to kill Tim. The thought made you cringe.

Letting your imagination wander, you wondered if the corn stalks would die by the end of winter. They were brown and withering more and more by the day, but you'd hoped you'd see them grow ears of corn by the fall. That was if you were still here. One stalk of corn stood taller than the rest.

"I'm trying to think of the best way to phrase this. Without sounding like some kind of fraud." Tim started, but as he droned on you were busy - locked in on the tall corn stalk.

"Even if I don't fully remember or wasn't completely there the whole time there was... there was some part of me that still was me. I was a caricature of myself but dammit - if I liked you then I like you! Me now likes you. Even though part of me was swayed by what was going on in my head I was there underneath it all,"

The other stalks of corn swayed and bent in the strong wind, but the other stood rigid. It was all too familiar. The pit in your stomach opened.

"I'd like to make it up to you. No matter how long it takes. If you're okay with that. I'm willing to wait until you know how genuine I'm being right now," Tim's hand made contact with your back, starting to soothe up and down your shoulder blade, but he stopped in his tracks at the stiffness of your form. He called your name, giving you a small shake, but you hardly allowed yourself to move at all. Deer-in-headlights, you kept holding your staring contest.

You recalled this from the day before. It washim.

What were you supposed to do? Did this mean it was time? Panic! Stay still!

Don't move or it sees you.Itisn't looking at you, yet.

Calling your name again was a lost cause. Tim couldn't manage to pull you out of your trance.

"C'mon, what's wrong? Are you okay?" his concern continued to intensify. Eventually, Tim looked out where your eyes were locked. As he did so,itvanished before your very eyes, rubbing itself out of existence. In disbelief, you huffed all of the air from your lungs, letting your body tremble.

Wordless, Tim pulled you into a hug, letting your head rest against his chest. Continuing from before, his palm connected with your back, now tracing shapes and wisps into your skin through your winter coat. You pushed your face into the crook of his shoulder, burying yourself into his armpit. Your nose was flooded with the perfumed scent of Old Spice deodorant and cigarettes. Gripping his jacket, you tried to further push yourself into him. You had an unending want to be inside him; a need - and not in a sexy way. You wanted to bury yourself underneath his skin and hide away forever.

"Did you see something?" words drenched with pity made you sick. How did he know? "Was ithim?"

"Is this one of those feelings?" you asked. Not by choice, you let out an uncontrollable sob into his shirt. No tears followed.

"Let's get you inside," he continued to caress you.

"Is it?" you shouted, panicked.

"I don't think so. But come on. It's time to go."

He didn't wait for you, instead hoisting you up by your arms and huddling you towards the front door. As he held the door open and pushed you through, neither of you looked back. In an instant, you were coated in the warmth of the house. A fire had been burning in the fireplace and the other two boys were still chatting away amongst themselves. The awkward tension between you and Tim had hardly interrupted them.

"Seriously, you guh-gotta take me out sometime. If I just keep sitting around here I'm guh-gonna f*cking lose my muh-mind. No more babysitting. I'm getting antsy.Freak."

"You can't wait a little longer, Toby? I don't want you scaring anybody off now that we're here. Don't we have it good right now? If you go around killing people in the area we won't be able to hide out for long."

Toby looked over to a shelf of decorative plates, pink and painted with kittens and puppies, "Sure," he spoke sarcastically, "but if you don't come with me I'll just go by myself. You don't want that, do you? I'll find whatever works for me. You can't tell me no."

"Fine, but I'm taking you somewhere far. The nearest house is about a mile away - don't f*ck around over there. You're just gonna cause trouble for us. I mean it. I still wanna lay low for the time being."

After shedding your coat and tossing your shoes in the foyer, you made your way into the living room. Toby had since taken your spot on the loveseat and from the kitchen, Brian was dicing thin slices of onions for dinner. Glancing over to the carrots and celery on the counter, you gathered it was another soup night. Brian tossed you a look that made your skin itchy.

"How soon then? Tonight?" Toby asked him.

"Maybe," Brian hummed.

Turning away, you headed straight up the stairs, Tim close behind you. He shadowed you the entire way to your room, trailing inside. Leaping up, you flopped down onto your bed and buried yourself under the duvet. You huddled yourself into the mattress.

"Are you okay?"

You were not! You absolutely were not!

"I think I'm just gonna get some sleep. I'm tired and it's been rough the past few days."

Tim frowned, but he didn't fight you over it, "Do you want me to wake you for dinner?"

"I'm not hungry," you covered yourself completely, letting the darkness fill your sight. If you thought about it anymore you'd vomit.

Tim didn’t stick around forever, choosing to leave you to your own devices. You didn’t blame him. Why would he want to sit in your room as you wallowed in your ridiculous self-pity? To him, you had probably seemed like a whiny baby - too scared to do the job he’d been doing for years. Desperately lonely, for hours you wished you had begged him to stay. Instead, you said nothing at all and cowered underneath your covers, hoping the fabric would become a force field and protect you. Drenched in sweat, your stomach cramped and ached as you hid, but you knew it was watching you. It had no eyes, but you could feel it. You felt its gaze crawling underneath your skin. The sensation burned hot in your veins and made your flesh itch.

Scratching away, you raked your fingernails over your arms again and again. You did so until you bled - the warm wet feeling was the only sign as you continued to scratch repeatedly. The ceaseless action kept you grounded. It helped you fight away the fear without breaking. Still, it was watching you. It was listening. It was in your brain, festering inside each passing thought. Though you knew better, nothing could get rid of it, you yearned for it to leave you be. In a daze, you repeated a mantra: get out, get out, get out.

Luck was never on your side. Even if you hoped and prayed, nothing would change hismind. The burning sensation only grew stronger. Thicker. It felt as if acid or molten rock had been poured into your body. You were unbearably hot and desperate for a sip of icy water to reach your dry lips. It made you feel feverish. You could only bask in the sticky sweat for so long.

Unable to stand it any longer, you threw the duvet off of your body and squirmed your way to the headboard. Back flush against it, you pulled your knees to press up to your chest. In your fetal position, you drew in heavy breaths and stared into the corner of the room. Exactly where you knew it would be.

The figure stood taller than what was physically possible. Too tall for the short ceiling of the old farmhouse, it bent over mid-spine, rather than forming a ninety-degree angle at its waist. The image was unnatural and made you feel dizzy. How it managed to contort its body was a mystery to you. All it made you think of was splintered bones, cracked to meet its demand to line flat up against the ceiling.

“What do you want from me?

Your voice was dust in the wind, hardly audible in the silent room. Stuttering to get the words out, you began to shudder and shake. No eyes, yet it managed to look straight through you. No eyes, but you could feel its glare of judgment. Face pale as the moon; as if its flesh had been fused over. This was rapture.

Listening in on your thoughts, your mark seared again - filled with the familiar sensation the rest of your body had drowned in. Boiling pain, heat so intense you wanted to scream out for mercy. No! It wasn’t time yet. Not yet. You weren’t ready! You didn’t want to hurt anybody else. It should just give up on you, now. You could never finish what it started for you. No, no, no, no, no, no…

Rambling on, thoughts bleeding into spoken words, you murmured, “No, no, no, no, no,”

You were reduced to nothing but a broken record, pleading with your new god for it to spare you. Nothing but the salt of the earth. As if your limbs were moving on their own, you fell forward onto your knees. Prostrating on the mattress and kneeling your head, you bowed before him. You begged him until you could no longer speak, voice hoarse and lost completely from the dehydration. How long had you been spouting nonsense to him? How long had you been reciting prayers and words of devotion you had never known before like the back of your hand? Even with no audible words, your lips moved to speak the sermon.

After what felt like half an hour, your body rose. He had left the room, disappearing once more, but your body had not yet been returned to you. He still wrapped his slimy fingers around you, forcing you to do what it pleased. Unwilling, you hopped off of the comfort of the bed and left the sanctity of your bedroom. The gentle rumble of snoring filtered past the boy's doors and filled the hall. Though your knees were weak and wobbly, you didn’t falter as you walked down the staircase. Your bare feet pattered along the wooden floor - the only evidence that you were awake - but none of the boys had heard you.

Finding yourself in the kitchen, you rummaged through the drawers. Spices. Hand towels. Cutlery. It wasn’t what you were looking for. You scavenged around until you finally found one: a sharp kitchen knife. You couldn’t do anything by idly watch as you pulled it from the drawer.

The pairing knife was small but could do deadly damage in the right hands. You wished you could close your eyes, but it wouldn’t even let you blink. He wanted you to witness every single second, uninterrupted. You wished you stayed hiding underneath the duvet. You wish you had never let Tim leave your side. Instead, you were forced to watch your body walk forward as he beckoned you, lava tainting your blood.

The pairing knife glimmered in your grip, reflecting off of the moonlight streaming in from outside. As you trekked your way back upstairs, you played with it and twisted it back and forth in your hands. Like a zombie, you walked up to the first door. Tim’s. Quiet, you turned the knob, but it clicked in place.

Locked.

A wave of relief washed over you as you left, but panic returned as you stood in front of Toby’s door. You waited. Waited. Until you realized you had regained autonomy. You wiggled your toes, testing it out; gripping and releasing the knife in your hand. Instantly, you flung your body to turn around and leave, but his grasp clasped around you again, snapping your torso to face Toby’s door once again. f*ck. The knife hurled out of your hand, spinning to the floor and landing forcefully into your right foot.

With all of the breath left in your lungs, you screamed out in agony, yet nothing succeeded in slipping past your closed lips. If anything, a mere moan echoed through the hall, quiet as a mouse. Though it could halt your screams, it couldn’t prevent the tears from edging on your lash line and threatening to spill down your cheeks. Vision blurred, you bent over and wrenched the blade from your skin. It pulled from the flesh with a wet schlorp, which was a noise you didn’t even know could come from your body. The blade hadn’t gone completely through your foot, but blood spilled from the wound.

Unbothered and against your will, it pushed you further, making you open Toby’s door. It only creaked slightly as you pushed it all the way open. You found yourself begging with it in your head; pleading for an end to all of this, yet it still pushed you on.

In his bed, Toby hardly snored, but he was sound asleep under his covers; the duvet pulled up just past his nose. He didn’t rustle or look your way as you clicked the door closed behind you and crept your way up to his bedside.

Please.

You stood over him, watching.

Please, don’t make me do it.

Toby was not a pleasant person, sure. That didn’t make him deserve this. You still didn’t want to hurt anybody, not even Toby. But wasn’t he a bad person? Did it matter if he was bad?

It did! It wasn’t your job to dish out justice like that! The death penalty was barbaric anyway!

While you told yourself over and over that this was not you, it didn’t care. The house was painfully soundless.

It made you stand over Toby a little longer, leaning over him as you watched his breaths. In. Out. Your hand tightened over the knife in a white-knuckled grip, strong enough to warm the blood dried to your fingers from your scratching spree. For the second time, you found yourself waiting and waiting. You knew what it wanted you to do, but you couldn’t allow it. You fought against it as hard as you could, pleading. You weren’t going to willingly stab Toby, yet it wanted you to do so, releasing you to move your body against your own volition.

Rather than act, you kept above Toby, watching as he peacefully dreamt. Suddenly, your muscles tensed up all at once, each one tremoring as you lost everything. Warm liquid spilled down your legs and soaked into your pants - as if the situation weren’t horrible enough as is. Your piss had spilled onto your open wound burning terribly and pooling onto the floor.

Mortified, you watched as your hand thrust forward in an instant, clipping Toby across the side of his neck. He sprung awake in an instant. Based on the calm stream of blood spilling from his throat, you had just barely missed his carotid. Confused, eyeballs shot between the knife in your hand and the blood on his blanket. He looked over his body for where you had struck him, but before he could find the slash you thrust yourself forward again. Body slamming into you, you crashed onto the floor.

Clank!

Helpless, the knife shot from your hands and clattered across the floor, scattering underneath a dresser in the corner of the room. Even while unarmed, it didn’t release you as Toby straddled over you, a single hatchet in hand. You hadn’t seen him pull it out from anywhere, but you knew you were f*cked. You were so f*cked. It held you in place, not letting you escape.

Trying your best, you attempted to scream out to Toby. It wasn’t you! None of this was your fault! You didn’t mean it! It was forcing you, but Toby couldn’t read your thoughts. He couldn’t hear your pleas.

“What the f*ck?” he took in your pathetic form underneath him. Not having a voice in this was more than unfortunate. Toby was going to bash your brains in. There was no way he was just going to let you go. Suddenly, you reached out and looped your fingers around the first thing you could. Slipping your fingers into his mouth, you pulled at the skin where his avant-garde cheek piercing was. He bit at the fingers as they squirmed for a better grip, but you quickly pulled them tight against his skin. He couldn't reach you there.Stop, stop, stop it, make it stop! Tugging and ripping harder than you thought possible, you yanked at his cheek until the flesh split. Toby didn’t even try to reason with you. In an instant, he reared back.

The hatchet coming down to hack into your skull was not the last thing you saw. You wished it was, but he wasn’t so merciful.Hewanted to see you hurt.

Toby slammed the hatchet into you once, twice, three times before you regained control of your body. You weren’t as stiff as before, so now each drop of the hatchet pushed your brain matter deeper into the floorboards. Though you were conscious, you were still mute. The pain was blinding and again - at most - you let out nothing more than a weak, guttural moan. With a thud, your arm fell from his spliced-open face. You were still breathing - feeling every second of it.

“The f*ck is wrong with you?” he spoke from above.

What was wrong with you? You lacked the energy to think about it. Toby slammed the hatchet down into your skull one final time, for good measure. He had sliced you up into a fleshy red pulp. He had turned you inside out. Being alive should be impossible, but here you were, underneath Toby with a trench cleaved into your skull - parting you in half. You could feel yourself spilling out.

Was this it? Washegonna let you sit here until it wanted you to die? Like everything else, you'd get to watch it unfold.

Easily worse than any migraine you had ever felt.

Toby pushed his legs up to stand and tossed the hatchet onto the floor. The metal rattled against the floor and shot splatters of your blood. Though it was already a miracle that you were still alive, your body was incapable of vomiting. One less bodily fluid of yours to be covered in - thank god. Toby stared down at you.

"Still awake? Usually, this is the part where you pass out from the pain and blood loss."

Passing out sounded wonderful. Though blotches of darkness scattered your vision, passing out was the last thing you wanted. Sure, you were in agonizing pain, but you were terrified. If you passed out, would you ever wake up?

Toby's door swung open, as a result of the commotion. You couldn't turn to see who it was.

"You aren't winning anything from doing this you know. Half of your brain is on my wall right now," he said matter-of-factly.

"What happened?"

Your comprehension of the situation was swaying, but you could recognize Brian's voice from anywhere. Why did everything have to hurt so badly? By this point, Toby's face had disappeared. He was there, still standing above you, but you couldn't make out any of his features - including the wound you gave him.

"What do you think happened?" Toby said, voice fading in and out.

"And she's still awake?" there was a moment of silence, where you imagine Toby nodded, "Damn."

Brian chuckled, "Tim isn't gonna enjoy hearing about this. Oh, and don't think I'm just gonna let you off all easy," he said, "you're cleaning all of this up."

"Wasn't even my fault you dick."

"I don't care. You do the job, you do the job. You could've done it clean but you chose not to."

"She had a knife, Brian."

"Don't see no knife. Still. Your job." he punctuated.

You were literally dying, but the two were arguing over who was cleaning up your corpse after. This was how you were gonna go out. This was how it would all end. It was only a matter of time and you'd be gone forever. Footsteps approached you. A figure entered your vision.

"Hey," it was Brian. You could hardly see at all now, "just let it take you. You'll be okay."

As much as you wanted to fight against it, you couldn't fend it off any longer. You let the darkness take you.

Chapter 14: Elder Vitae

Chapter Text

It had not been the first time you had blacked out in the past few months, your thoughts trickling away into the thick sludge of unconsciousness. You wondered: how many more times would something like this happen? That being, if you were to live forever? The rest of your sad existence? The concept alone drove nails up your spine. An eternity of this? This was no way to live. Although you hoped things could be different (and damn, hope could be such a strong thing) chances were hope was far from reality. You felt like a dumbass. You were stupid and now you were quite literally dead.

Thankfully,hewas generous enough to spare your life.

Still, nothing could prepare you for how much it hurt to become un-dead; to have bone fragments rejoin and muscle fibers grow back, to have pieces of your skull mold together. It proved to be a tedious process, yet after what felt like mere seconds you finally gained the strength to wake. In truth, you knew better. The time spent must have been days in order to knit your flesh back together. Since the night you died, someone had scraped bits of you from Toby's bedroom floor and your gray matter was no longer splattered all over his ceiling.

Instead, you were cozy back in your bedroom, tucked underneath the covers. Even so, your bones whined and ached so greatly that you laid in your bed for at least a day or two longer, falling asleep here and there to drown out the monotony. Sleep kept the pain away - it was supposed to be your respite - but the dreams only brought strange vague memories. You tried to ignore them and shrug them off as sheer delirium. God, you were delirious. Who wouldn't be after having their head smashed in? As far as you were concerned, nobody in the world could blame you for wanting to ignore the painful, drawn-out process.

So you slept and slept for hours, waking only to shift in the bed, push your grogginess aside, and fall asleep again. In hindsight, it probably had no benefit, but your body tolerated it. Throughout the ordeal, if one of the boys came to visit, it was not while you were awake.A chair sat in the corner of the room, facing the bed. Atop it laid a disheveled blanket. When you woke this time, it was far past twilight and nobody was sitting in the chair. The lamp on the bedside table had been left on. You basked in the silence, adjusting your eyes to the light.

You had tried to kill Toby and here you were.

It felt so unreal.

It made your stomach twist in knots!

The events of that night felt as if they were a moment of astral projection. To be fair, you weren't in control of your body, but your limbs still did the dirty work. In the dim room, you grappled with that fact. More than anything, you were amazed by your newfound resilience. You could recall every second before you fell unconscious, even though it should have been f*cking impossible. All of it, up to the very moment Brian told you to let go. None of it should be real. It should've killed you. The pain should've taken you out, butitwanted you to feel that. Itwanted you to suffer, didn'tit?

Body aching, you reached to run your fingers over your scalp, scratching where there should be a gaping wound (or at the very least a scar), but the flesh was smooth. It hardly even hurt. If anything, you were just exhausted. You guessed it had something to do with all the energy your body had used up regenerating, but you weren’t exactly an expert. You’d have to ask one of the boys if you wanted to know. If that wasn't crazy enough, your hair had started growing back to its (long/short/medium) length already. It had only been what - a week? They told you your first time would be long and drawn out, but this seemed like fast work.

Then there was Toby. He was alive, right? Though what he did to you was nothing in comparison, you had slashed him across the neck and he hadn’t died.

Lips smacking together, you pulled yourself up from the bed. Like when you were first marked and that time before in the cabin, your body was sore and unsteady and you felt like complete sh*t. However, you were parched and needed to get yourself something to drink You couldn't lay around any longer. You'd go stir-crazy. After a drink, you'd like a shower, too. You felt crusty and hadn’t moved in ages.

Slowly, you passed through your bedroom door and made your way through the dark house. You eased down the staircase, bones creaking just as loud. It had been far too quiet inside. Everyone must have been sleeping. You’d have time to talk in the morning.

Bounding into the kitchen to the best of your ability, you made your way to the sink. Not even bothering to grab a cup from the cabinet, you threw the tap on and leaned into the basin. Letting the cool water fill your mouth, you chugged and lapped at it like a dog. You felt like one of those assholes in a Fiji water ad.

This was untouched beauty.

This was Earth’s finest water.

You felt refreshed. Beads of water dribbled past your chin, wetting the neckline of your sweatshirt, but you didn’t care. This was peak form.

"Thuh-thought I heard a rat,"

Toby's voice came from behind, startling you. Pulling away, you turned off the sink and wiped the water soaking your face and chin.

"Damn, not bad," he stared at you intently, eyes fixed on your face. "Almost look normal already. Should've seen yourself a week ago. You were a f*cking wreck."

Your suspicions were right, it had been a fair amount of time.

"What, you aren't upset?" you asked, but the words wouldn't come out. You cleared your throat and tried again, your throat raspy and crackling, but your words came through.

"Upset? No. f*cking bitch - you guh-got what you deserved. But I'll leave it at that. No point arguing about it."

"Wait. So you don't care at all. Like. No hard feelings?"

"Not really. I did have to clean your ass off the floor though. Brian was pissed. Took me forever to get that sh*t out. Surprised you don't seem to care much, though. Aren't you gonna be p-pissy that I killed you? That's usually how it goes, not the other way around."

You looked him in the eyes. You didn't feel anything. Sure, you should be upset that he had killed you, but he was right. You did deserve it. Plus, you were still processing what had happened. It was hard to be mad when dying didn't even seem tangible. Could you blame him?

"f*ck it, I guess not."

Toby giggled, his pale face growing warm. You took the time to look over his features once more: his dark sunken eyes, aquiline nose, and facial piercings. He looked rugged, but then again you had never seen him look rested before. Was he always tired?

Leaning back against the kitchen island, he propped himself up with his hands. You looked over them, examining the thick scars and cuts scattering his fingers. His shirt sleeves covered his forearms, but you imagined the scars traveled up them. How long had he been doing this to be so scuffed up? It's nothing you had seen on the other boys. Perhaps, Toby was more hands-on? Less cautious? Even if your body healed over, would you be left with a scar?

"Good. I can roll with that," he said, "no hard feelings."

Huffing out a shaky laugh, you mimicked Toby's body language and leaned against the sink counter. You couldn't believe yourself - laughing and forgiving your murderer.

"So... that thing," you started, "I saw it the other night - when everything happened. I feel like no matter how much you guys explain everything, I still don't understand. Maybe it's because it just doesn't feel real, but damn. I'm thinking about thiscreature,what it is, and how it works, but I can hardly think about that when I'm focused on what it's doing to my body."

Toby stayed against the counter, listening to you quietly as you spoke. He gave you his utmost attention, only broken by a few tics as you yapped. You continued.

"It was controlling me. Making me move and I couldn't do anything about it. I knew what it wanted me to do. I think it was testing me to see if I would listen to it. When I didn't, it just took back control and made it happen. I didn't want to hurt you at all, but it made me do it anyway. So I just watched myself move under its volition. Honestly, that makes me feel hopeless. I'm sorry."

Toby waited a moment before responding, visibly thinking of what to say.

"No biggie. It was bound to happen. Not like I felt it either."

"What do you mean?" you tilted your head.

"Oh boy- I can't feel pain, so don't worry about any of that."

You shot him a look of confusion, "you cannot just drop something like that and not give me an explanation."

"Hereditary Sensory and Autonomic Neuropathy type IV. Basically, my nervous system is shot so I can't feel pain and don't have working sweat glands. They originally thought it was type III, but when I was five I overheated at summer camp and ended up with a one-hundred-and-four-degree fever. Lucky me. Now I'mspecial."

"Wow, so you really didn't feel any of that?"

"Exactly. Nothing to feel bad about thuh-there.Freak."

"Hmm. And that first thing you said - that it was bound to happen. Why has Tim said that already? Are you guys going around killing each other?"

"Usually, not on purpose."

Squinting at him, you tried to see if he was joking, but he looked dead serious.

"Are you kidding? Doesn't that just make all of this more miserable if you guys are hurting each other all the time?"

"Like I said, we aren't doing it on purpose most of the time. But it does happen. It's just part of living underhim. You saidhecontrolled you, right? That's not the first time something like that has happened and it wuh-won't be the last. Chances are, it'll just happen again. Did it say anything to you?"

"No," you thought back, "it didn't speak. I didn't think it could. I remember asking it something and I got nothing back. It's like I just felt what it wanted from me. Like a terrible sinking feeling. When I refused to do what it wanted, it made me do it. That's what really showed me what it wanted. I couldn't deny it, even though it didn't say anything back."

You folded your arms across your chest, "Does it speak to you?"

"No. Only ever spoke to Tim from what we know. Thought I might as well ask though. Just in case."

"It's funny: I felt that inside I would be safe. I remember how tall it was in the cornfield, but it just fit itself inside here anyway. I didn't think that would be possible, but then again it's always doing the impossible."

"I mean, it isn't human. You can't be surprised by what it does. Thuh-that'll just make you sad, right? I just think of it like some kind of mazzikin.We lacked insight before we were marked and couldn't suh-see all that evil it was doing to us. Now it wants us to join it. We were like dolls inhisplayhouse. When we choose not to follow the script, it puts its head through the window and shows us what's up."

"What's amazzikin?"

"Like a demon that you can't see. Think about all of the timeshewas probably there in your life, whether you knew it or not. That's what it reminds me of. If I assume it can do anything, there's nothing to be scared of. No surprises."

"That sounds like fear to me. I mean, if I start doing what it says just so it doesn't do something terrible, I'm practically worshipping it. I don't want to worship a demon, even if it makes it easier for you. I don't want to do any of this."

"Look, if that's how you see it, I'm not going to fight you. But what other choice do you have? Sure, being a slave to it sucks dick, but would I rather die instead?" he looks at you with anticipation, "the answer is no. I wouldn't."

Dying or killing people. That was the choice you were making.

"You don't ever feel bad hurting other people?"

"Not anymore. Not for a long time."

He spoke without a glimpse of remorse. It reminded you that standing less than two feet in front of you was nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer. Toby had killed people before, no longer felt anything over it, and had no plans to stop. It made your heart pump harder.

"How?"

"It'll happen to you someday. After the tenth or twentieth time, you just stop caring. You lose track of your kills and soon after that, it becomes nothing more than life for you."

"That's not true! I could never think that way about someone else. Life is precious. I have no right to take it away from someone else."

"You say that, but if you want to live, you must carry it out. It doesn't have the energy to waste on proxies who won't work on their own. And if that doesn't kill you, the guilt of being a murderer will eat you alive. Just makes everything worse."

"Then maybe I'll just fight back as long as I can?"

Toby shook his head, disbelief painted across his face.

"You won't last. It's a shame. I was looking forward to getting to know you. Brian and Tim are so f*cking boring to be around after so many years. Each day the same thing... everyone else didn't last more than a week, except Kate. Thought you were gonna stay around after I killed you, but with that attitude, you're a goddamn goner." Toby scoffed.

"Well then, I guess you'll just have to get to know me until it decides to let me go. I'll even get started for you and tell you my life story. Then you can rest easy."

"Does it look like I give a sh*t about where you came from? I was looking forward to seeing who you become. Who you turn into after all of this sh*t. I've never had someone under me - someone newer than me. I've always been the baby of the group even though it's been what, seven f*cking years? I wanted to see all this through. I wanted to seeitdrive you insane until you wake up one day and realize you like it. See the day it picks you apart until you're something else entirely. I want to see whatitmakes you."

Toby grew notably upset as he pushed his argument further.

"You know how rare of an opportunity that is? If you don't make it out of this, who knows how long until we get someone marked again? Tim finally started being himself, too. That's really gonna f*ck things uh-up for me. I let myself open up and get along with you and you're throwing that away already? You don't even want to try?"

Speechless, you tried to find words to calm Toby's outburst, but it only seemed to make things worse.

"Listen, just because you like having me around doesn't mean I'm obliged to do whatitwants," you argued.

"You're supposed to do what it wants."

"I want to try something different. I don't want to feel stuck!"

"Whatever! You'll die like everyone else. That's what you want, anyway."

Closing his eyes, Toby leaned his head back. He breathed in slowly with a clenched jaw, pulling his hand to his face to rub his tired eyes.

"f*ck! I guess I even thought I had a f*cking chance." he yelled, "It's not like I'm into themanyway. Not into one-night stands with strangers either. It gets so lonely... you could've been something for me. I know it was a long shot - I don't even know how you swing - but it was a chance. I had started to think maybe even that was possible."

"What, you're pretending to like me so you can get your dick wet?" you weren't sure how to approach the situation or what to say at all, but you couldn't keep silent, "You know Tim and I have a thing going on."

"Do you? Do you actually?"

You frowned in embarrassment. When did the lines even cross between you hating Tim and liking him again? Toby continued.

"To me, it seems like you're barely interested in each other. Plus, who cares? It's always been the three of us, I'm sure he'll learn to share, just like with everything else. I mean, don't you wanna show him how much he's f*cked up? Revenge for being such a prick? Show him he needs to step up to deserve you?"

Admittedly, your face grew warm at the thought of hooking up with Toby. Still, you knew it was wrong. With all the stress, an org*sm felt like what you needed, but with all things considered, Toby's idea seemed incredibly stupid.

"Toby, if you really care this much about all of this, then I can't do that to you. I don't think us f*cking is going to help either of our problems. Even if Tim is a dick."

"I should've trusted my gut and known you were like everyone else."

Before you could speak, Toby thumped away, quickly heading upstairs, his bedroom door closing loudly behind him. Surely, waking everyone in the house in the process. With a sense of shame, you followed far behind him, making your way to your bedroom. Rummaging blindly through your dresser, you pulled out the first sweatshirt and pair of pants you could find. It didn't matter how it looked, as you were going to waste away in bed anyway. No need to impress anybody.

After you had what you needed, you left to the nearest bathroom and locked yourself inside. You let the shower heat up as you undressed yourself. They had left you in the same clothes from that night. In the mirror, you stared back at a blood-covered mess. Most of the gore had been cleaned from your face and hands, but the entire front of your top was stiff and crunchy with dried blood. Your pants were embarrassingly soiled and stained. After how long it'd been, there was no chance the blood would come out.

Stripping the clothes off, you examined your face in the mirror. You had looked surprisingly okay. Though your complexion was off and you had bags under your eyes, you didn't exactly look like someone who had died and come back to life again. Your hair was cut unevenly, but you looked strangely normal.

Once the water was warm enough, you wasted no time standing under the stream to rub off grime and blood. It took vigorous scrubbing. You used it as an excuse to sit under the water even after you were done. You hadn't showered in a week. You had a pass to take another hour-long shower if you pleased.

As you moved on to shampoo your hair, you ruminated over your conversation with Toby. Given his sexual comments and innuendos from before, his interest in you shouldn't have been surprising, but you were dumb-struck. So caught up with your relationship with Tim and the god-demon-creature that now controlled you, you hadn't considered Toby as even a possibility.

Don't you wanna show him how much he's f*cked up?

Toby was so quick to tear down the suggestion of you and Tim being in a relationship. At first, you thought Toby must've been jealous, but when had Tim and you ever been serious? Had you even kissed? You felt terrible for not remembering, but over the past month, you'd been forgetting a scary amount of sh*t from before. Everything was becoming so hazy. It seemed like you and Tim had a hard time getting along. Would getting with Toby be all that bad?

Of course, you stood firmly by what you had said to him. He had been very emotional over the situation and you didn't want to do anything with him while he was vulnerable. You'd hate to be something he'd regret, but truthfully, you weren't against something like that in the future. Maybe telling him that would ease his mind? Yet, you frowned. Would you even last that long? By the time you felt ready for a potential relationship with Toby, would you have died for real?

Now that you decided to fight againstitswill at all costs, death was at your doorstep. There was no reason to be thinking about the future. You had no future.

You wasted your time in the shower until the water turned cold. Having no choice, you finished your shower and quickly dressed. Though the room was steamy, it was still winter and the tiled floor was freezing. You fully dressed yourself including socks.

Gathering your energy, you finally left the bathroom. You were tired enough to slip under your covers and fall back asleep, but you resisted the urge. The scent of breakfast wafted from the kitchen, so you found yourself trekking downstairs again.

Brian stood in front of the range, frying eggs in a cast iron skillet with mindless perfection. He seemed to be on kitchen duty, yet again. He glanced your way.

"Hungry?"

You simply nodded as he plated a slice of toast.

"I'll make you a plate. Rest well?"

"I guess you could say that. Where's Tim?" you wanted to see him and talk about what had happened, but you also wanted to continue your conversation from before. With Toby still on your mind, you needed to work out your situation-ship.

"Tim's busy. On a mission."

Brian must've heard your sound of disappointment.

"He should be back sometime soon. He's never gone for long. He'll be happy to see that you're okay."

Plating the fried egg next to the toast, Brian placed the finished plate on the counter in front of you.

"Enjoy,"

You gave him your thanks and ate standing in the kitchen.

"Things are going to be a lot different for you now. You understand, right? You've had a phenomenal recovery and I can only see things getting better from here."

At his words, the eggs suddenly turned sour in your mouth.

"I'm not sure if I want to stick around. I think I might just let it take me," you confessed bluntly. Brian eyed you down.

"Oh, you are? How interesting."

You picked at your food, taking small bites, "You aren't upset?"

"Should I be?"

Shrugging, you answered, "Toby was."

"Thought I grew a heart and got attached? The other two are different. Frankly, I don't care if you decide suicide is the answer."

"It's not suicide-"

"How so? If choosing to die isn't suicide, what is it then?"

You were quiet.

"Call it whatever you want. You aren't going to change my mind."

Brian turned the range off, plating his dish before turning to you, "I will say I am deathly curious to see how this plays out. All the little things it will do to you. I mean it's already sparked an interest in you and done all this work, what's it gonna think now that you're resisting full force? Mind if I place bets, or is that too insensitive?"

"I don't think Tim or Toby will enjoy betting on howitwill cause my demise."

"What makes you think you know them so well?"

You stuttered, but Brian filled the silence as he started to eat, fork scraping against his ceramic plate.

"Us three, we're all we have. We're all we know and all we'll ever know. You being around for a few months barely puts a dent in that bond. So with that put aside, my bet is it hasn't broken you yet. It still has a long way to go with you until it tosses you out to rot."

"Well then, I guess it'll be decided soon enough,"

You put your empty plate in the sink, leaving the dishes to someone else.

"I'll be in my room"

You excused yourself and beelined upstairs. Everyone was in such a mood. If you knew they would be this way, you wouldn't have told anybody. They can't blame you for not wanting to take part in this. You knew you were in the right, yet you couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt creep up on you. You were out of place and it was more aggravating than you ever imagined. It was enough to make you feel wrong for not wanting to kill others, simply because you were one-to-three.

You rested in your bedroom, now lacking the ability to fall asleep. Instead, you lay on your back staring vacantly at the ceiling, wishing you could return to the sweet incoherence of slumber. There was nothing to do without it and you couldn't use it anymore to ignore what was going on. Your stomach ached.

Toby was upset with you because you weren't going to f*ck him. Brian was upset with you because you didn't want to be a part of his murder club. In between all of this, Tim was nowhere to be seen. What a strange life you were living. As a passing thought, you wished Tim hadn't tossed your phone. If he gave you the chance, you'd promise him not to contact anybody if it meant you could have an hour of unrestricted internet access. Sure, it'd be hard to resist texting John and Kari your goodbyes, but you'd make do with a YouTube deep-dive. Anything to keep you entertained.

There was no television in your room and you didn't care to watch a random movie in the living area. For now, you were going to keep to yourself. Likely until Tim returned.

You sat up and forced yourself out of bed once more. It was time to snoop through Gam-Gam's belongings.

Making your way to the wardrobe, you started rummaging through the drawers. Tim had gone through the effort of unpacking your suitcase, but you had very few clothes to your name, so he kept a lot of Gam-Gam's stuff inside the drawers. There were many chunky hand-knit sweaters, which were frankly a blessing. They were beautifully crafted, putting those thin store-bought jumpers to shame. The other clothes in the wardrobe were old, but not anything too "granny". They did have a sickly sweet smell that reminded you of a retirement home. However, the wardrobe quickly bored you, so you moved on.

From the sight of the room, you had originally assumed it was a guest room, but many of Gam-Gam's personal belongings decorated the interior.

Gam-Gam had selected a few portraits to hang on the wall. Small photos that weren't too gaudy, but enough to show off what you assumed to be her family. To your dismay, she seemed to have a lot of grandchildren. Though you knew nothing about her, you hoped that her grandchildren loved her and that she loved them all the same. At the same time, the thought made your heartache. One of the boys had killed her and now you were living in her house. Worse, nobody had come to find her.

It was the utmost display of disrespect, yet here you were. It wasn't like you had much of a say in anything, but having your room all to yourself was much nicer than the nights spent in the hotels.You circled through and headed for the bedside table. You were in Missouri, so you wouldn't be surprised if there was at least a bible in one of the drawers.

The wood creaked as you opened it, but there was no bible. Instead, you found the hairpin Tim gifted you placed neatly inside along with a few miscellaneous items Tim didn't bother to clear out. Closing the drawer, you moved on. You preferred not to think about such things. The hairpin only reminded you of Tim and the thought of Tim reminded you that you needed to talk.

Finished with the room, you moved into the hallway to look at more pictures and found yourself thinking about him. You wondered what sort of mission he was on and if he was okay. You wondered if all missions meant mindless murder, or if there were other aspects involved. Could it have been possible that itknew you planned a mutiny and already set Tim to find your replacement?

Propped on a shelf near your bedroom was a scrapbook that you began flipping through. Gam-Gam glued in plenty of photos of her and what looked to be her husband. She wrote in the margins, but her cursive handwriting was unique and difficult to read. You flipped to a photo of the man and 4 children and struggled to decipher the note.

Christmas 1988 with Mark, Lisa, Brandon, David, and Sarah.

At least, that's what you made out. For all you knew, "Sarah" could've been "Salad", but you were using your context clues.

By the looks of it, Gam-Gam's children were in their forties and fifties by now. Her husband likely died a few years ago or perhaps they divorced. It didn't look like he had lived here for a long time. As you delved further into Gam-Gam's personal life, you felt even worse about residing in her home.

Continuing down the hallway, you admired the knick-knacks she had collected. Gam-Gam was truly a maximalist. It seemed she couldn't leave any space undecorated. It was nothing near a hoarder house, but the decor was certainly busy.

"I know you're upset,"

"f*ck!" you jumped up in surprise, "Brian, you scared the sh*t out of me."

You whipped your head around, Brian already smiling.

"I know you're upset, but I want you to know it's a stupid choice. If you keep this up, one of us might have to kill you with our own hands, you know."

"That doesn't make me feel any better,"

"It's not supposed to, it's meant to change your mind,"

"You won't change my mind, Brian,"

"You'll never go back to what you had, why not be happy here?"

"I miss my friends. And my job. And not risking my life."

"But do they miss you? And your job, looked like you were having a sh*tty time to me. You're freelance now. Keep the big man happy and you get to do whatever you want."

"Of course my friends miss me. What are you trying to imply?"

He shrugs and doesn't say anything, so you continue after a heavy pause.

"I don't want to live in hotels,"

"Then keep us out of trouble. And by the way, what Toby said - don't take it too personally. He has Borderline Personality Disorder. He'll come around to you sooner or later and apologize."

A few days passed before Tim finally returned, slugging his half-awake body through the front door and straight into his bedroom. You didn't get any chance to talk with him, but you couldn't blame him - it looked as if he hadn't slept the entire time he was away. You were bummed and buzzing with anticipation, finding it hard to think knowing he was in the same building. You had so many things you wanted to go over, yet now was still not the time.

Unfortunately, your ego was busted, as you couldn't stand isolating yourself from the house for too long. Brian, Toby, and you all sat together in the kitchen eating breakfast. Despite being on cooking duty the entire time Tim was absent, the quality of Brian's meals never faltered, always delicious and filling.

"That's how I got my arm cut off for the first time," Toby rambled on.

In truth, you were only partially paying attention to him, as his "fun story" was completely ruining your appetite. You took turns picking at your food and taking small tiny bites. You felt ravenous, but food was running short after almost 3 weeks at Gam-Gam's house. The fridge and pantry were in desperate need of a restock. Though you enjoyed Brian's cooking, you craved something snacky, but you weren't in the position to demand Cheez-Its.

"Wonderful story Toby. Care to tell us how long it took to grow back?" Brian posited.

"Hah! Well, the first time it felt like ages, but now it only takes a good night's rest. Pretty neat huh?"

Since the prior incident with Toby, he had not apologized like Brian suggested, however, he took a complete 180, seeming more cheery and chipper than you'd ever seen him. In general, he came off to be rather laid back, maybe even a bit brash. Now he was nearly buzzing in his seat, unable to contain himself and talking your ears off.

"Pretty impressive, yeah?" Brian questioned you, but you simply shrugged and nodded your head.

"Whaaaat, don't seem so indecisive about it. When was the last time you grew back an arm in a night?"

The kitchen filled with silence.

"See?"

Both boys laughed amongst themselves. Curious, you spoke what popped to mind.

"If you heal faster, does all the pain condense and get worse for the shorter amount of time, or does it stay about the same whether it takes one night or three weeks?"

Brian smirked, looking almost impressed.

"Suh-sorry. Can't help you with that one," Toby turned to Brian, waiting for an answer.

"I think at some point, you reach pain so great you can't even feel the difference. If we can only feel pain on a scale of one to ten, why would our body care if it's at a thirteen or a twenty? It's all the same - just bad,"

While his answer was succinct, it did not inspire confidence.

"What if you got your leg cut off, then you were marked? Has something like that ever happened?"

"Itonly remakes what is there. If you have the leg when you're marked, you can always guh-get it back. But if it wasn't there to begin with,hecan't just grow a new one for you." Toby explained for you, but Brian added on.

"That's why there's a "honeymoon" process in the first place. It wants a good vessel. It wants to test you first and make sure you're a good fit. If you were sick for whatever reason it wouldn't be able to fix that. And you'd be stuck like that forever. Even though Tim can't die of lung cancer, he's got a smoker's cough from before he was marked. That will never go away."

You scrapped your plate with your fork as you thought about how your hair had grown back completely.

"So, now that I'm pretty much in mint condition, no matter what happens I'd always come back to this state?"

"Yup, pretty much," Brian said, picking up his dish to wash in the sink. Toby followed close behind, having finished his meal.

"What about starvation?"

"You wouldn't die, but it'd force you to find something to eat," Toby said, "from experience. I went for two weeks once. When I was first marked. It'll make you want it - unlike anything you've ever felt. Kind of like that feeling you guh-get that we talked about. It's... longing? You won't die, but it won't let you go long."

The thought of Toby starving for two weeks made you inexplicably sad.

"But you won't have to worry about that, right?" Tim's voice called out from behind you.

All three of you turned to face him.

"C'mon," he motioned away from the kitchen, "I heard we had some things to discuss."

Chapter 15: Swamped

Chapter Text

"I think we should go our separate ways,"

You morphed into a detached version of yourself; feeling each spit of rain crash into your body. The words - simple enough - smacked you like a truck, hitting you harder than the icy chill from the overcast skies blanketing the country. Barely audible, you meeked out, "What?"

Tim had taken you aside not too long ago, leading you outside to catch up. The two of you walked laps around the house's perimeter and tried to enjoy the weather in each other's company. While you had expected to talk through some difficult topics, ones thatithad interrupted days prior, you did not expect Tim to suggest breaking things off of his own volition. That was what you were meant to do. You were meant to "stick it to the man". You had waited so long and he was spoiling all of it.

"What happened to what you said the other day? All that sh*t about making it up to me - did you not even mean any of it?" you yelled, stopping dead in your tracks.

"I was thinkin' about what you had said that day and you're right—my time away made me realize that. I don't know who you are and it's not fair for me to push this onto you. So... I think we both should step away. If later on we change our minds, well. We'll go from there."

How could he be such a wish-washy hypocrite? Whatever! You didn't need him anyway. It wasn't like you were losing anything in the process.

Resuming your pace, you let your shoes shuffle against the rocky ground. This was what you had wanted anyway, wasn't it? Why were you complaining? This was the hand you had wanted it to feed to you. You wanted Tim to let go. The raindrops grew into rocks, hitting hard on your clammy face and turning into slush on the earth beneath you.

"Fine. That's your choice,"

You calmed yourself, preparing to drop the same bomb you told Toby and Brian, "I'm gonna letittake me. I wouldn't want you to be attached to me anyway. When I die."

Tim had nothing to say for moments, his stride lining up with yours.

"Okay."

Brows furrowing, your anger stewed all over again, "Okay? You have nothing else to say about it?"

Tim shook his head and let his hands rest in his pockets.

"You know how much sh*t I got from Toby over this? The lecture I earned from Brian? All for you to have nothing to say?"

Tim let out a heavy, exhausted sigh.

"I know. And now I see how it might be... disappointing. Brian told me about it. I've had quite the opportunity to think it over."

"When?" you asked.

"Told me a few days ago," he pulled out a flip phone from his pocket. It sat small in his hands, "Still use one of these to keep in touch."

"So when I wanted to talk to you earlier, I could've?" you scoffed, huddling inside of your coat.

"Probably not. I reckon Brian still doesn't exactly trust you. Plus, it's not exactly the conversation either of us should have over a phone call. I think face-to-face is healthier for both of us. You deserve to hear it in person."

The two of you walked in silence. The early February air was only a step warmer than what you'd suffered through in January. Thankfully, there would only be a few more snow days before spring finally came. Since Tim seemed unperturbed, you ignored your death wish and asked him,"So what now?Are you gonna leave us?"

The thought of your rag-tag group lacking Tim felt strange. Though you once hated being around him, the thought of being removed from him felt foreign. You had been with him most waking days of your life for nearly half a year. Up to this moment, your life purpose practically revolved around him. And you hated that fact. Instead of worrying about normal things like raises and a mortgage, you were absorbed with your captor.

"I'm not gonna leave. I'll simply stop bothering you with it. You don't have to worry about me pushing you anymore. It should've always been your choice. I think I'm still trying to get over what it did to me."

Tim continued without being prompted.

"It felt like a dream the entire time. Some bits are gone completely. And it made me enamored with you. I had no choice, but it still wasn't fair to you. For that, I'm sorry. I feel like I lost something when I realized you didn't care for me that way. But when I looked back and couldn't even remember most days, i knew I had made a severe mistake."

He couldn't bear to look you in the eyes.

As you made your thirtieth lap around the house, you stared vacantly into the land surrounding you. The nearest houses were miles away from here. The rest of civilization was even further. In each home lived a probably mostly normal family. A family that had no ideaitexisted. There was a secret the four of you shared that literally defied everything you knew about life. And as you learned to cope with the disaster it made of your career and relationships, you were left with no choice but to find solace in the three boys. They were all you would know before you died.

Without a word, you accepted Tim's apology. Though, you hated how (despite everything you had gone through) your heart still ached to connect with him. It wasn't fair.

Eventually, the two of you gave up on the brief walk and dispersed back inside. After talking with you, Tim chose to meet with Brian downstairs. It sounded like they were catching up well, as their laughs echoed from the kitchen. Their joy made your insides feel cold. You had initially thought that Tim rejecting you would make you feel better, but instead, it made you feel worse. The one person with unrestrained devotion to you didn't even mean it. Most of all, you wanted to shield your face out of embarrassment. Seeing your "relationship" slip through your fingers like sand solidified everything Toby had said. You were lost.

As you made your way upstairs (anywhere to distance yourself from the fun the two boys were having), you admired Gam-Gam's framed photos.

Over the last few days, you recognized more and more tiny details; all things that showed what her life had been like. Though you were viewing the same pictures each one hung up in the same places, you now noticed the heavy laugh lines etched into her cheeks from decades of joy. You noticed the greying hair that slowly crept into her dark brown locks until the colors became one. Most of all, you realized that hardly any of the photos was a portrait of Gam-Gam herself. Instead, she collected albums upon albums of pictures of her children and grandchildren, sometimes including herself.

She was loved. She was loved with a vibrance so bright, coming from each person surrounding her - something so magnificent you had no idea it had existed. It stayed evident in these pictures, captured for almost eternity until age would inevitably fade it away. Someday, the pictures would blur and bleed until they became illegible.

Worst of all, it was a love you feared you would never have.

You stopped in the hallway to view the pictures, each one again telling something new. After mere moments of viewing them, the walls shook and the floor vibrated. The front door had been slammed open and even from your vantage in the upstairs hallway, you felt the windy air rush through the house and the scent of rain lingered.

Though the sound was jarring, the clamor of stomping boots and a man screaming sent your chest into your stomach.

"What the f*ck do you think you're doing in my mama's house?"

The question was immediately followed by gunshots, consecutively one after the other.

BANG! BANG!

It had been quick and violent, a shotgun maybe? You felt the rounds shoot off in your bones and your muscles tensed.

A warm body pressed flush against yours, arms wrapping tightly around your torso - hand wrapped even tighter around your mouth.

"Shhhhhhhhh," they hushed from behind you before pulling you back into a room. Toby's. He locked the door and shoved a weapon into your hands. As a reflex, your hands wasted no time wrapping around the handle of the hatchet.

"What the f*ck am I supposed to do with this?" you panicked

Toby hushed you again, "I told you to keep your voice down! Now go on. Find somewhere to hide."

He shoved you behind him as he positioned himself beside the locked door.

"What?"

"Now's not the time to be stupid. Save it for later. Now hide."

Not given much choice, you looked around his room for someplace to wiggle yourself into. There was nothing good. You had two cliched options: under the bed, or in the closet. As you decided, heavy footsteps started to pound up the stairs. You could practically hear the man breathing outside the bedroom.

"Ma, are you up there? Come on, I know there are more of you assholes! Come out from where you're hiding so I can shoot your f*cking faces off."

You panicked and sprinted to the bed, dropping down carefully to lie flat on your stomach. It took a moment to fully crawl out of view. Once you were settled, hands awkwardly wrapped around the hatchet, the man had made it up the stairs.

"You little f*ckers,"

It was clear he was making rounds, checking each room to catch the two of you. It would only be a few moments before he noticed Toby's door was locked. You didn't have a good shot of him from under the bed, but you could see Toby's feet readied by the door, a second hatchet held expertly in one hand as if an extension of himself. Though you were flattered that he gave you something to protect yourself with, you were useless under the bed. You had no space to swing at all and were too cramped to quickly move if you needed to run.

As the man came closer and closer to Toby's room, you wished you had hidden in the closet instead. If he found you, you were toast.

For an eternity, everything was silent. The rasp of your terrified breathing filled your ears.

The doorknob rattled but clicked stuck. With one motion, a heavy boot kicked at the panel of wood.

"I found you cowards!"

He broke his sentence with another kick, blowing the brass knob off of the door and clattering onto the ground. The door itself followed quickly after, flinging open so hard it damaged the wall behind it. Thankfully, Toby stood safe on the other side.

You watched helplessly as the man stormed in, coming so quickly that he missed Toby's lean form squished against the wall.

BANG!

A third-round shot off into the floorboards. Next, his body. Toby's hatchet had successfully clipped him in the side of the head. The man was dead.

Even though you knew you were safe - Toby was on your side after all - you huddled under the bed lying perfectly still. Toby pressed his foot onto the man's back and ripped the hatchet from his skull. Was that what it looked like when Toby had killed you days ago? Did he wretch it out of your body in such a way? The thought made you shiver.

"You can come out now."

Anxiously, you scooted your way from under the bed. Surprisingly, the spray from the hit was minimal. You reached out to return the second hatchet to Toby, but he rejected it.

"Keep it. For now. I'm gonna check the rest of the house for anyone else. You stay here."

You didn't argue with him as crept into the hallway.

"I'll come back when the coast is clear,"

So Toby left you standing beside the man's body. You wanted to stay alert, but you found yourself glancing at the body beneath you, checking constantly to see if he would wake. He never did. Toby cleared the house quickly, finding no one hiding. He returned to you looking much calmer than before.

"All good out there," he said, reaching to take the hatchet from you.

"I'm surprised he missed you coming in. Thought I would see your head blown off," you admitted.

"He was too blinded by his anger to see me."

"I'm glad. Thanks for the help. I can clean up a bit?" you offered.

"No," Toby shook his head, "Wuh-we'll have to drop this place. Not worth messing with anything."

"Drop it? Why? I thought you guys had everything handled?"

"We did. But freakthat was before," he nudged the body with his foot, "him."

You couldn't hide your upset. You had just gotten out of motel hell. The last thing you wanted was to be in it again.

"So you're just gonna leave him here? We're gonna get caught,"

Toby drew out a genuine laugh, growing flushed in the face.

"Caught? By who? Surely not the pigs."

You shrugged, not expecting him to answer in such a way.

"Most cops can't do their jobs." he explained, "The rest chose not to. I don't write the truth. You couldn't even do your job."

"What's that supposed to mean," you grew defensive. If anybody had a right to judge your job, it certainly wasn't Toby.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he cackled, "Ever heard of 'never let your abductor take you to the second location'? You had multiple chances to escape and you never did. Even before now. But you never even tried. Why? Thuh-that's the real question."

"So when are we leaving then," you said, dismissing him.

"Gotta wait for Tim and Brian. They're f*cked up. Gonna be at least four hours? Get packed and we'll go from there,"

"Four hours? What happened?"

"What you think he just gave 'em warning shots? He's surprisingly a good aim."

Frowning, you headed to your room. It wouldn't be yours much longer and it felt wrong to be taking your things from Gam-Gam's wardrobe. You had been idolizing her so much that you'd forgotten you were wronging her.

It didn't take long to finish packing all of your things - you didn't own much to begin with. However, you did thoroughly double and triple-check the wardrobe. The thought of leaving something behind scared you as you would never see it again. Eventually, you gave up searching. You couldn't scour through the space forever, so you chose to meet back up with Toby. He too had finished packing his things and instead made an effort to gather as much stuff as possible for Brian and Tim.

In the hallway sat a few backpacks, bags of food, and now your suitcase.

"Brandon Cubero." he told you, "That's what his wallet says."

"You looked through his wallet?"

"Gotta get money somehow. Dude had two hundred bucks on him,"

As vile as it was, you couldn't argue. You had to eat. Out of the pile of belongings, you noticed one bag filled with rice, canned beans, and cheap white bread. While you were grateful for what you had, the kitchen had much more to bring along.

"Woah, that's all the food we're taking? That won't even last three days."

"We can't take everything with us. We've got to pack light. We won't run out - Tim would never let that happen. We just have to pick our buh-battles right now. Rice and beans are good. Everything in the fridge is a bust anyway."

He entered Brian's room, leaving you peering inside from the doorway. No one was stopping you, but it felt intrusive to enter Brian's space. While you had been here, you hadn't even peeked inside.

Toby padded his way to the bedside table and pulled the drawer open to rummage through it. Brian's room was gorgeous. It was decorated to the nines, much like yours. There was a not-so-subtle blue motif throughout that felt delightfully cozy, which was particularly present in the blue duvet that Brian had neatly laid over his mattress. From the nightstand, Toby pulled out a pistol. For a moment, while grasped in his hands, he stared at it and took in its details before tucking it away in a backpack.

"So he broke up with you," he broke the ice.

It wasn't a question, more of an acknowledgment.

"I guess he did, yeah. You here to make fun of me? Say I told you so?"

Turning to face you, Toby closed the gap between your bodies.

"No. Maybe a little," his eyes ran racetracks around the collar of your shirt, "I was more interested in giving you a second chance. Time to reconsider."

Though he spoke casually, the implication behind his words was evident. Reconsider.

You turned your head, hoping his eyes would miss yours. The thought had you warm inside. Nothing had ever made you feel so impulsive before. No choice had ever felt so pivotal. You thought back to several nights ago, recalling how the rough edge of his appearance made him look. Though you couldn't get yourself to admit it, you were admiring him as he lazed against the kitchen island.

With his pierced face and tired eyes, Toby was the antithesis of a cop. If your friends back home learned you had an inkling of attraction to him, they would lose their minds. Before the thought could pain you, Toby whispered to you, his breath hot against your neck.

**nsfw content starts**

"It's alright if you aren't interested in me. I want you to crave me. I want you to beg to be near me. If that's not what you need, I don't want any part in it."

When was the last time words alone made you ache? Blood rushed to your head, making you dizzy as your face flustered.

"I want you to need me," he continued.

Your gaze turned to the open door, yet Toby's hand (gentle in action but rough from years of damage) pulled your attention back to him.

"Remember what I said? They'll be gone for hours. We still have time. You don't have to worry about them at all, just us."

Standing together, closer than ever before, your foreheads bumped into each other. You were moments away from his lips, but instead, Toby's hand shifted to your neck and caressed where the flesh met your jawbone. His stare was ravenous; the intensity tearing you apart.

"Please?" your voice came out meek, but he didn't count your plea as an answer, instead, his eyes were still fixated on your neck and his stare grew pained and heavy.

"Can I just... get a taste?"

"Yes," came out, but you didn't expect the speed he responded with.

Instantly, his warm tongue lapped across your throat and his lips closed to suck gently along your jawline. Unsteady, a moan left your chest as he grew rougher and a hand reached behind your head. By now, bruises surely painted your skin. With you and Toby near the center of the room, you had nothing to brace yourself against except him.

Pushing playfulness aside, he continued, starting to nip at your skin. Love bites quickly turned into actual bites, not enough to draw blood, but enough to prick at the skin. With your flesh trapped between his teeth, he could easily rip out your throat if he wanted to. Instead, he kept biting down to your collarbone, savoring every inch.

The sensation made you weak at the knees. As you clutched against him, you felt helplessly vulnerable with the wide-open door. Your neck turned wet and cold as Toby groaned against you and his body pushed in closer. You didn't think it was possible, but now you met head-to-toe, feeling every part of him including the bulge in his pants.

You turned your head to look out into the hallway and Toby took it as an opportunity to reach slightly beside your ear. His touch made you whine as you began to ache for him. You hadn't been touched this way in so long.

**nsfw content ends**

Despite how badly you had wanted him, your mind trailed to the boys downstairs, alone and shot to death. It furthered to the man dead on the other side of the wall.

Before your emotions fully soured, Toby sunk his teeth into you. It was a mix of pain and pleasure, but the element of surprise coupled with your mental state resulted in a negative response. You jumped out of his arms, pushing him away from you. Immediately, your hand rose to touch the wound.

"I'm sorry!" Toby blurted out with a sorrowful look on his face, "I should've asked first."

Pressing your fingers into the bite, you pulled your hand back and examined the bright red blood spotting your fingertips. The wound wasn't deep, but he'd drawn blood.

"It's okay," you said.

Maybe if you weren't so caught up on what had happened, you'd be able to enjoy the moment with him.

"No. It wasn't okay. I got carried away and that isn't fair to you,"

Toby stared at your neck, but without a mirror, you were unable to see how bad it was.

The awkward silence was heavy between the two of you and you each eventually turned to do your own thing. Toby resumed packing on behalf of Brian and Tim and you decided to take your last shower in the grace of Gam-Gam's house. Throughout the entire shower, you savored the perfectly warm water and appreciated the clean tiles beneath your feet. It was a luxury that most motels you'd been in didn't provide.

All of this would be gone. No room for yourself. No private spaces. You wouldn't even have a kitchen to enjoy Brian and Tim's cooking.

You tried not to spend too long in the bathroom, but you again found leaving the stream of water difficult. Once out, you assessed the hickeys and bite marks spotting your neck. They made you feel stupid, regardless of how good they felt in the moment. Unfortunately, you didn't own a turtle neck. You recalled Toby wearing one before, but you couldn't exactly ask him to borrow one after what had happened between you. The closest you had was a sweatshirt - one that Tim had given you to wear when you first left home.

You put it on, pairing it with the thickest pair of pajama pants you owned. Searching for a solution, you circled back to your room for a final time and rummaged through Gam-Gam's wardrobe. While she had no turtlenecks or high-collared shirts, you found a lovely hand-knit scarf. It was long and wide, but thin enough to not look ridiculous. Though the style was a bit out of your taste, you wrapped the fabric around your neck.

Toby had taken everything downstairs, already finished with the task he assigned himself. You heard murmuring, so you anxiously made your way downstairs.

Sat upon the loveseat was Brian. Well, not sat. Rather, he was lazily slumped against the cushions, a large chunk of his jaw still missing. The image was not one you had expected to see. It had only been nearly three hours, but Brian was awake and conscious, his flesh reforming rapidly in front of your eyes like something out of a movie.

Tim was less fortunate. The bullet had gone straight through his head. You guessed it had something to do with his brain needing to reform before he could fully gain consciousness, whereas Brian only had to rebuild his mouth and face.

While it was an unsightly injury, you had seen similar things in your line of work before. The gore itself didn't unsettle you, instead, it was the concept of seeing someone you knew hurt. Moreso, nearly disabled, but regenerating in front of your eyes. It took your body an entire week to heal what Toby had done to you, yet Brian and Tim were expected to heal gunshots to the face in less than six hours.

"Hey," Brian slurred out to you, "Once I can feel my hands again, we'll leave."

"Doesn't that hurt?" you asked.

"Of course, it f*cking hurts," he wheezed, "but the adrenaline is still rushing. I'll take a Tylenol,"

"Sure... and what about him,"

"Probably will turn out like you the other day. Whuh-won't wake upppuh until he's almost healed over. Shouldn't be long though."

"Gonna have a killer migraine though," Brian said. If he had lips, you imagined he'd be smiling at his joke.

"Wait. If your face is missing and he doesn't have a brain yet, then who's supposed to be driving?" you questioned, pointing at each of them.

"Again, once I can feel my arms we can go. I'll just slap a mask on or something. We'll be fine."

"There's no way in hell you're driving like that! What if you begin to feel sick?"

"Well, Toby can't drive, so we don't have any other choice."

His words left everyone in silence for a moment. You could drive. Nothing was stopping you and you did feel terrible making Brian drive on the highway in such a state. The boys stared at you as if waiting for you to offer.

"I could do it," you said.

"Fine. But once I'm finished, we're switching,"

Toby guided Brian into the passenger seat of the car while you packed everyone's things in the trunk. Afterward, Toby carried Tim's body outside and laid him in the backseat. He buckled both of them (Tim with much more difficulty due to his dead weight) and you situated yourself in the driver's seat. You sat for a bit as Toby buckled himself behind you, unable to start the car.

"What's the wait for?" Brian asked, muffled behind a disposable surgical mask.

"I forgot something. I'll be right back," you sprinted out of the car and up the porch stairs. You didn't stop running until you were back in your room, standing in front of the bedside table. You pulled it open, the hairpin still sitting loose in the drawer. Your pajamas didn't have any pockets, so you tucked the pin into your hair and rushed outside. You didn't want to leave them waiting any longer.

Brian's face already looked different and a little more developed than before. Buckling yourself, you asked if everyone was ready before starting the engine and pulling out of that quaint gravel driveway. As you drove away, you knew you would never see the house again. From now on, it would become just another spot on the map.

As you drove around Brandon Cubero's slate grey Jeep Cherokee, you caught a figure standing in the window. You swore it washim, but you didn't want to think about it. Toby's wholemazzakinspiel had you on edge more than ever. Once you turned onto the highway, you questioned how many instances you were in the house together (perhaps even a few feet away from each other) and never noticed it there. Whateveritwas,hehad already meddled in your life once you crossed paths with the Bellhouse's. What were the odds that hehad been watching you before then?

The thought made you shudder, but you continued to aimlessly drive down the road. After snapping yourself out of it, you realized that no one had told you where to go and you were driving with no destination in sight. Regardless, neither Toby nor Brian had said anything about it.

You glanced over to Brian beside you, he had pulled the mask down, the muscles of his lips beginning to form and cover his teeth.

"Where am I going?"

"Where do you suppose we should be?" he questioned you.

The quality of his pronunciation had already improved and he seemed far less groggy than before.

"You said you would take over when you could use your hands again," you reminded him.

"Hmm. You've impressed me, so I changed my mind. Besides, can't I take a break from taxi-ing you guys around all the time?"

"Okay," you focused on the land surrounding you.

Where were you supposed to be? You felt you didn't have a clear answer, so you continued driving down the road you were on. It had been ages since you'd driven a car by yourself. Looking down at the dashboard, you noticed the tank was nearly empty.

"I think we're supposed to be at a gas station," you said, "You left me on empty."

"Alright," he said, reaching to turn on the radio.

You continued driving and driving until the houses grew closer together. Road trips were just as boring as the driver, except you had to actually pay attention to traffic laws. Eventually, the rural road turned into the suburbs, and before you knew it you were smack dab in a city. You pulled into a gas station. Business was crawling and only one pump besides yours was occupied. Putting the car in park, you looked expectantly at Brian.

"What?" he asked.

"I don't have any money," you told him.

Toby let out a sarcastic sigh, "Looks like a job for the two of us," he unbuckled and coaxed you out of the car, "Come on."

You didn't argue with him, you were dying to be out in public again. Although, it was a strange change in pace. Before Gam-Gam's house, Brian and the others wouldn't be caught dead in a gas station with you. Now, they didn't seem to mind at all. Did it not matter anymore? Was getting caught not a risk to them? Surely, you were still some sort of missing person, right?

You memorized the gas pump you parked at and walked up to the convenience store beside Toby. Rainwater coated the asphalt in the city. The smell was heavenly.

The door chimed as you walked inside. The white overhead lights were jarring. An older woman manned the register, plump in her old age and donning a bright red polo shirt with khaki pants.

"Welcome to Red Spot. Lemme know if you need anything."

She looked "job tired" as if she had been denied retirement. You started for the counter, but Toby pulled you aside to the snack aisle.

"Pick something," he told you.

You stared at him, uneasy.

"Consider it part of my apology. It's okay,"

Toby refused to move until you grabbed something from the shelves. Once you did, he joined you at the front counter where you gave the lady at the register your snack.

"Anything else?"

"Eighty on pump three please,"

She nodded wordlessly, as Toby handed her the cash. Throughout the encounter, she eyed the two of you down, seemingly suspicious of something. You'd hoped she had recognized you from the newspaper or a milk carton, but to your disappointment, she seemed more disgusted by Toby's facial piercings.

"So your face looks like that forever, huh?" she said, referring mostly to the large gauges in Toby's cheeks, "What do you do if you need to get a real job?"

"I don't think it's any of your business," you told her.

The woman shut up quickly, handing you the cash and a grocery bag with your snack. She barely uttered a goodbye as the two of you left.

"Do people treat you like that often?" you asked Toby.

"Depends on the city. And what I'm doing. I'm used to it," he shrugged.

Out at the car, Brian was already filling up the gas, mask ditched completely. As you went to sit in the driver's seat, he stopped you.

"Know where we're going yet?"

You shrugged, pulling an answer out of your ass.

"Alabama."

He seemed stunned by your answer. You didn't know what was in Alabama for him, but it held weight. You could see it in his eyes.

"What city?"

You pondered. Was it a trick question? You felt a strange uneasiness in your gut. The way Brian was staring at you must be getting to your head. Suddenly, you froze.

"Something with a 't'. Tuskegee? No." you shook your head. "Tuscumbia?"

You let the name sit in your head for a bit. Tuscumbia wasn't right either, but it felt closer than your previous guess.

"I feel like... that isn't it."

Brian watched you intently, still holding the gas pump in the tank even though it had dispensed eighty dollars of fuel.

"Brian. What city is the university in?"

Brian wore a face you had never seen before, something that told you something, but you weren't sure what the emotion was. Surprise? Excitement?

"Tuscaloosa," Tim said, standing outside of the car. Hearing his voice caught you off guard at first, but he was right. Tuscaloosa.

"That's it. That's where we're going."

You reached to open the door, but Brian stopped you.

"I'll drive," he said, finally putting the nozzle away. You obliged, walking around the car to sit on the passenger side.

As everyone got situated, you opened your snack, offering a piece to Toby. He took some as Brian and Tim sat in the car. The air was thick.

"I'm doing that thing aren't I," you said, "That's the feeling."

"It is," Brian told you.

"So why are you all being so weird about it?" you asked.

"It was accurate," he said.

"That can't be all. Strange looks just because of accuracy? What else?"

"It was fast," Toby said bluntly, "you can't regenerate like them, but you can do that?"

"What's that supposed to mean? That isn't normal?"

"Not unusual necessarily, but normally that feeling of where to go is small. Something along the lines of continuing down a certain road and making lefts and rights until you get where it wants you. Either you're extraordinarily good at this. Oritwants you to do something very important."

You frowned. You hoped you were just strangely talented. The thought ofithaving something planned for you was unnerving.

"Well, you guys knew we were going to Missouri. What makes what I said so special?"

"It's more of the place, right?" Toby said, "Tuscaloosa."

Tim explained in response to your confused face.

"We have a history there."

"Should I be worrying right now?" you asked. Even before they answered, your chest grew heavy as your heart began to race.

"If anything, I imagine it's a good thing."

Brian drove the four of you out of the gas station, taking you all to Alabama. You spent most of the time listening to the radio, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. This newfound success was a good thing forhim, not you. It meant you were functioning perfectly. Mentioning Tuscaloosa was a mistake. Why couldn't you get yourself to lie? You could've brought them home back to the city you lived in. Instead, you were unwillingly giving in to what it wanted. Why didn't you lie?

As Brian drove on the interstate, you knew that your regret wouldn't change a thing. You still had made the stupid mistake. All you could do now was try and throw it off your scent. If it hated you enough, it would dump you like it did Kate.

You doubted Brian would let you suggest a change in course, so you let him continue to drive in silence. You'd figure something out in Tuscaloosa when the boys ask you to act next. For now, you'd have to stop letting it eat away at you. It would be best to enjoy your time before you go.

With nothing better to do, you curled up in your seat and closed your eyes.

Chapter 16: Your Skin Remembers Me

Chapter Text

Tuscaloosa was a mystery. To you, it was nothing more than a pin on a map, another place you would be dragged along to. It was beyond you why thisthingwanted all of you there. Even more so, why it wanted you at all? After your accidental death, you were fairly certain that it could read your thoughts. It had to know your intentions somehow, right? While everything was happening, it knew you didn't want to hurt Toby, so instead it forced you to. With all of that considered, it should know you were waiting to die. Why wasn't it doing anything to change it?

Nonetheless, Brian was driving. Nothing could get him to turn around, no matter how anxious you were to be in Alabama. You were sure begging and pleading would only embarrass you. From the front seat, you mindlessly picked away at your fingernails as you looked out the window. Your vision had gone blurry with strain. Surprisingly, you managed to get a few hours of shuteye, but it was short-lived. Chatter was small between the four of you and there was nothing to do to kill time.With no other option, you watched the scenery fly past outside. You'd done it a thousand times since leaving home. These days, it barely dented your boredom, but what else could you possibly do to fill the void?

Snuggling into the scarf, you settled into a comfortable position. To be frank, you had put yourself into quite a situation. The scarf was far too good at its job. Underneath it, your neck was sweat-covered and swamped with warmth. You wanted nothing more than to rip it off, but the thought of exposing everyone to the bruises on your neck made your cheeks fluster.

Nobody knew. Nobody could know. Not a soul. It was juvenile at best, but it excited you. You ached at the memory, but it was instantly followed by shame and guilt washing over you in waves. You shouldn't be wanting someone similar to Toby. He was as much of a murderer as Brian and Tim. He'd even been horrible to you when you first met. Playing with the fabric of the scarf, you glanced at the rear-view mirror, hoping to meet Toby's eyes. Unfortunately, he was shifted away from you and the mirror was tilted towards Brian. Instead, you stared out the window again.

f*ck it. Longing for him was wrong, sure, but you were still allowed to think about it. You decided, no one could judge you as long as you kept it to yourself. Now you just had to make sure no one else would find out. Could Toby keep a secret? You hoped he could.

The drive to Tuscaloosa would take nearly 8 hours of non-stop driving and involved cutting through Arkansas and Mississippi. Brian had already driven you into Mississippi. This far in, it seemed like the 8 hours would never end. However, without a word Brian detoured, turning off the nearest highway exit into the city.

"Are we finally getting some f*cking food?" Tim's groggy voice spoke from behind you. It sounded as if he was just as exhausted as you were.

Brian answered without a word by pulling into a Hardee's parking lot. The fast-food restaurant was fairly busy, serving people driving in and out of the city. The sight alone made you feel for the minimum wage employees, but it quickly overwhelmed you. More people were coming through this mid-size store now than you had seen in weeks. Likely, you hadn't been in such a crowd since you were back home. The gas station miles back was nothing compared to this. You weren't doing anything wrong, but your hands were drenched in sweat and the heat around your neck grew thicker.

The view of Brian and Tim entering the building threw you out of your mindless daze. They had already left. You looked around to see Toby still seated behind you, already looking your way.

"Are you not coming in?" he asked.

Without a thought, you shrugged. Why was the crowd making you so nervous?

"Were you guys okay with that anyway?" you questioned him.

"Only if you wuh-wanted you. They didn't say you weren't invited."

"Too many people, I'll stay," you muttered.

He sat with you in the car's silence as you waited. While you watched the front doors open and close every few moments, you realized that you were terribly anxious at the thought being in that building. The thought of that many people surrounding you made you nearly sick.

"Here," Toby spoke out before opening the car door and stepping outside. You watched from your seat as he walked around the vehicle and stood right outside to open your door for you.

"At least come out to stretch your legs." he continued, "We got a few muh-more hours to go, so you should stand for a bit."

Seeing no point in arguing with the idea, you unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out. As soon as your weight shifted onto your toes, your thighs grew wobbly and unsteady, aching from sitting for so long. Standing was enough to make you feel damn-near euphoric, but you added to the sensation as you arched your back and lifted your arms to properly stretch your muscles.

Though you only stood in the stretch for nearly twenty seconds, you were overly conscious of the way Toby eyed you down, ravenous.

"Something on your mind?" you pried, calling him out for staring.

He merely smirked, deep brown eyes narrowing as his gaze met yours.

"You can take that off now,"Toby suddenly stepped closer to you and reached his arm out to hook a finger under the scarf wrapped around your neck. He laughed.

"Never mind,"

"What?" you smiled back at him, "Did you forget? You did that, you know."

"Oh, I remember," he made a noise between a gasp and a hiccup, "unless you wanted to remind me?"

"Oh god, stop teasing me!"

As you joked, you leaned to rest against the car and wrapped your arms around yourself in a hug. You looked away, searching through the Hardee's windows to try and catch sight of the other two.

"You don't have to get all shy. Really, I feel flattered."

"I didn't even do anything," you said, noticing Brian waiting in a line by the front counter. It was impossible to look at Toby without burning up. You felt him settle his way beside you and lean into your side.

"The marks from my teeth are still lining your neck. I think it's cute on you."

The warmth of his breath brought you back to earlier in the bedroom - oh god. As you watched Brian order, you realized that you and Toby were practically dry-humping each other in his room not too long ago. It was information you never wanted him to know.

Toby peeked down the scarf for a second time, humming softly as he did so.

"Why is that so weird to you? Did you think they'd just disappear?" you asked.

"By now? Yeah. sh*t, I can barely get a bruise to last thirty minutes on me. But this?" he giggles as he takes a third look, seemingly admiring it, "Hours."

He paused and you looked back at him. "Are you flirting with me?" he asked, cheeks blushing pink.

"How could I possibly be doing this on purpose?" you grinned and turned away again to watch for Brian.

"So yuh-you're some kind of slow-poke, then?" he let the thought sit as you spotted Brian next to Tim, waiting for the food to be finished.

"Is it a bad thing?"

"In this line of business? Probably. Buuuuuut," he moved the scarf again, fascinated by your hickies, "It's incredibly hot."

Finally taking a step away, Toby mirrored you in leaning against the car. "I guess everyone is duh-different anyway. Like that cool as f*ck intuition you had."

"Well then, what hand did you draw?"

"I dunno. Never gave it much thought before now. How about you watch for it and tell me?"

Tim and Brian walked towards the front doors. As if on cue, Toby trailed back to the other side of the car and got back in. You did the same by opening the door and sitting back down in the passenger's seat. Before you knew it, Brian was back behind the wheel and Tim had tossed a paper bag into your lap.

You thanked him and rummaged inside. You hadn't expected him to get you anything and you hadn't asked, but he had managed to find something that perfectly fit your preference. It always threw you off-guard when one of the boys hand-picked something you liked.

Brian wasted no time and immediately started driving, steering with one hand and eating with the other. Hungrier than before, the smell of the food egged you on. You pulled a paper box out of the bag and started eating. As you chewed, you realized that the boys did heal much faster than you. Obviously, you had noted it before, but Toby seemed overly interested in that fact. At first, you had imagined it was because you were rather new - perhaps it was some skill that you needed to gradually build up. However, it felt far from the truth.

The way Toby spoke of it, it seemed to be your speed at healing would never change. It was horrifying. For the millionth time this week, you thought back to Kate. It made drumbeat pumps of your heart pound in your ears. Whenit comes to realize that you're serious with regards to murder, you're going to die the same way she did. No regeneration, you'll just fade away. That's what you wanted, right? How could you be upset about that?

You tried to convince yourself again that you had wanted this. Yes, you wanted to heal up faster, but that was a passing thought. The truth was you couldn't heal faster. It must have heard you out. You were convinced that all of this slow healing was because it was giving up on you, just like you wanted it to. You should have been happy. You should have felt peace, but you didn't. As you finished your meal, you realized that you were scared.

Why couldn't it just end this now?

You tossed the paper box back into the bag and wiped your hands clean on a napkin. Afterward, you hugged yourself once again and leaned against the window. It was getting darker out already and as Brian drove further East, the climate grew warmer and humid. You didn't feel so tired anymore and realized you had a few hours to stew in how you felt. Frankly, you were half-tempted to turn the radio up or play eye-spy, or twenty questions - anything to drown out your thoughts. Nothing good was coming out of the silence, but you were too nervous to initiate.

Miles passed as you stared out the window. Tim had barely spoken a word to you since everything had happened and you were outright lusting for Toby. You supposed you felt guilty. Not just about your current situation-ship, but you felt as if you were leading everyone on. Tim had apologized to you for the sake of your relationship and had even broken things off for you. Toby wanted you and sought companionship, but more importantly, he wanted you to take to him. And Brian - you were still figuring him out, but you felt closer to him than before.

All of them were working towards something, just for you to die. f*ck, you were even wearing the pin in your hair. Could you even change your mind on something as f*cked up as this?

Welcome to Sweet Home Alabama

A large green sign greeted you. You had crossed the state line. How much time did you have left? An hour at most? The car was silent and the air had felt tense. The rain had come back, heavy droplets now smacking against the roof and windshield of the car. It was a far cry from the snow you'd been surrounded by over the long winter. In fact, the weather was rather mild, almost warm.

You ran your fingers against the scarf. You were f*cked. There was no way you wouldn't boil alive with it on, not to mention how crazy you would look with it wrapped snug around your neck. Yet, if you took it off, everyone would see and it was more than obvious what the bite marks and bruises were.

"So, where in Tuscaloosa do you reckon we need to be exactly," Brian asked you, throwing you out of your thoughts.

You paused, "I'm not a hundred percent sure, but the university is an idea stuck in my head. I think it wants me to know it exists for some reason,"

Tim sighed softly from behind you.

"You guys mentioned a history here. Were you students?" you asked.

"That was a long time ago, now," Tim spoke.

"Right. Didn't think it'd have any reason to bring us back here,"

"Would you happen to know where any student housing is?" you asked them.

"Like a sorority?" Brian said.

"No. I think an apartment?"

"I remember there being some student apartments off campus. Something like that?" Tim told you.

"I think so. To be honest, I'm only getting the university and an apartment. Beyond that, I don't have a clear idea."

You felt like some sort of fraud, blindly leading the four of you into danger. You couldn't help but think you were randomly making these things up as you went, but a tugging sensation in your gut told you otherwise. There was a purpose behind the nonsense and the realization made you nauseous.

"What did you guys major in? If you don't mind." you spoke, trying to take your mind off of things.

"Creative media," Brian said.

You looked toward Tim expectantly.

"Creative media,"

"Huh. Wait, really? Are you guys old college buddies?"

"You could say that," Tim muttered.

"What happened?"

No one spoke.

"That's why we are all here right now," Brian said, "what happened."

Wrapping your mind around the thought, you watched as the rainwater coated the asphalt. The bustle of conversation between the three of you quickly died out. Before you knew it, you were in silence again. Brian and Tim seemed to be filled with dread, but they both held the emotions behind their stoic faces. They had always come off as overtly confident. If they were uneasy, you figured you had much to worry over.

You needed to accept death. You didn't have much time to get over it, but you did not want to die afraid.The hour passed in minutes. Brian had driven you into the heart of the city. Tim gave him directions to the student housing he mentioned - each description evidence that they'd lived here long ago.

"It's up past the old gas station," Tim said, gesturing down the road.

As you approached, you scanned the area. The apartments looked the part for student living - they seemed uniform and bland. The building was taller than it was wide, spanning at least five stories up. It looked recently repainted and was coated in grey and red hues. Brian stopped the car across the street and all four of you looked out at the apartment.

"Okay, detective. Boss-man still hasn't given me anything, so you'll have to lead." Brian said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't have the recipe; can't bake the cake,"

"Well then put some eggs in a bowl and figure it out - what do you want me to do? I've never done this before!"

"Anything,"

"Wah - I can't just walk in there!"

"Yes, you can," Toby chimed in.

"Then why don't you do it?" you argued.

"Come with me. We'll go together."

"Yeah, do that," Brian said, waving you and Toby off.

"Fine!" you yelled at him and practically jumped out of the car. Toby ran behind you, catching up as you crossed the street to the complex. The air outside was worse than in the car. You felt swampy and uncomfortable and you were covered in a sheen of sweat.

"I bet you we can't get in without a student ID, so what even is the point," you muttered to Toby who was now beside you.

"Let's just try to figure something out. We'll just look auh-around," he said as you walked up to the entrance. The two of you stood in front of the glass door. You tried tugging at the handle, but it didn't budge. Beside the door, fixed to the wall, was a black box. As you guessed previously, you had to tap a card against the sensor for the doors to open.

"Well. I guess we can go back to the car now." you shifted to walk away, but Toby kept you still. You went to argue but stopped at the sight of a student leaving the building. The student opened the door and greeted both you and Toby. He was a young man, you'd guess perhaps a sophom*ore.

"Ah sh*t, you guys locked out?"

You shared a look with Toby and nodded wordlessly.

"I got ya," he held the door open to let the two of you pass through, "just be careful next time. If the faculty sees, we're all in deep sh*t. See ya around," he chuckled as he left.

That was it? You and Toby had stepped into the lobby now, but still, you had no insight into where it wanted you to go. You wandered with Toby around the first floor, looking around for anything important. The ground floor didn't have any units. Instead, it was reserved for communal space and mailboxes. You walked up to a bulletin board near the elevator. The postings were a mix of student life and community news. From what you gathered, spring break was in two weeks and there were student-led activities for the complex every Wednesday evening. Someone in the complex had also posted private tutoring advertisem*nts.

"Yeah... I'm still not getting anything," you told Toby, "We should just go,"

You pulled on Toby's arm, trying to turn him around to leave. As you did so, you nearly bumped into a young woman, standing right behind the two of you.

"You two interested in the event tomorrow? It's game night," she spoke in a sing-songy voice, a bright smile plaster on her face. She had a small gap between her two front teeth, and a large birthmark spotting the side of her face.

"Game night? What kind of games," Toby led. You stood behind him awkwardly. You guessed the boys had the wrong impression of you, you weren't exactly an interrogator.

"I think everyone is still deciding, but we were tied with truth-or-dare Jenga and Uno."

She looked your way. Her smile was unphased, but you noticed her eyeing your sweaty face as well as your stuffy clothes. In the brief pause, she looked as if she had something to say.

"Is something wrong?" you asked her. Before answering, she puffed out her cheeks and your face felt sticky. Had she figured you out? Bracing yourself, you waited. She must know you weren't supposed to be here.

"Your outfit. It's cute, but... It's a bit warm isn't it?"

Relief poured over you, ice cold; you found yourself smiling back at her.

"I know but I don't have anything else right now," you tried to find a reasonable excuse, but she answered for you.

"Oh yeah, those student laundromats are always full aren't they? It's such a pain. Here, why don't you come down to my room and I'll let you borrow something? You can give it back at game night tomorrow. If you're still interested, that is."

You looked back to Toby, unsure if you should take the bait. He nodded to you, "I'll wait here for you," he whispered to you, patting you on the back.

"Great!" the student said, turning before you could protest. You followed close behind her as she led you into the elevator. She pressed the button for floor three.

"You have any fun plans for spring break? I heard a bunch of junior Communications majors are going to Myrtle Beach together. Seems nice but not much of a party destination," she giggled, waiting for your response.

"I think I'm just gonna stay in the area for the break. I don't got much going on," you lied. It came out so easily.

"That's fair. You know, that's the best part of the student apartments. They changed the housing rules last semester, so all students in dormitories have to leave campus. But you and I," she pointed in your direction, "we are on a lease, my friend."

The elevator chimed as you reached floor three. She stepped out, guiding you to her unit. You paid careful attention to the direction she went, leading you around a corner and down a long hallway. She stopped in front of a door that read "305". The door handle to her room was also locked by a keycard. You watched as she slipped her student ID into the slot and the door audibly clicked open.

"After you," she held the door for you.

The apartment was barely bigger than what you'd expect from a dormitory. You hoped she wasn't paying too much in rent. The room was a cramped studio apartment, her bed sitting in the far corner of the room by the window and the kitchenette across from it. Set up near the bed was a small T.V. and couch.

She walked over to her bed and opened a drawer underneath it, "Do you have any preferences? I can give you something baggy or something tighter?"

Face warm, you blanked. You had a problem.

"Well..." you started, but she didn't turn to look your way as she found a shirt and pants, "I kind of have a problem."

That got her attention. Her head snapped your way as she held a soft band-tee in her hands. Before she asked, you undid the scarf around your neck. Looking down, you could see some of the bruises still speckling your collarbone. You were thoroughly embarrassed, hoping that she had a solution.

"Wuh-wow!" she stammered, nearly more nervous than you it seemed.

"Are those from your uh... friend down there?" she looked down at the floor. You nodded.

"He... bit you?" she seemed almost worried, not sure what to say.

"I told him he could, to be fair," you tried to explain. At your response, she sighed in relief.

"In that case, I can try to help you out. You can put these on," she handed you the clothes and pointed towards the bathroom. The bathroom was tiny, but you managed to change out of your sweaty jeans and long sleeves. When you returned, she was waiting for you, standing in her kitchenette.

"I put a few spoons in the fridge. It might help get the bruising down, but we have to wait a bit for it to get cold. Is that alright?"

"That's fine," you responded, "I really appreciate everything. I'm sorry but I didn't catch your name earlier?"

"It's Ariyah. Nice to meet you."

Ariyah held out her hand for you to shake. You grabbed it, introducing yourself to her. When your skin touched hers, you felt a worrying feeling in your gut. Something in the air felt off. It made your palms sweat and your heart skip beats. You muttered an apology and wiped your hands against the shirt. Looking her in the eyes, you took notice of her black kinky hair and her doe-eyes. You were overcome with the urge to remember her.

Trying to avoid vomiting all over her clothes and carpet, you spoke to her.

"So, what's your major in?"

"I'm doing social work with a minor in psychology. I want to help kids. I actually just started an internship a few weeks ago." she practically beamed.

"That sounds pretty nice. Is it what you expected so far?"

Though you genuinely were interested, you were worried she'd catch on. You had graduated a few years ago and were surprised she hadn't become suspicious of you. Giving something away was your worst fear at the moment, and you were suddenly afraid you'd blurt out your whole life. Off-handedly mentioning your career in criminal justice would be a massive mistake.

"They definitely are holding me back from the major tasks," she went on, "but so far I've been spending a lot of time relationship-building with the kids at the local hospital."

Ariyah's happiness quickly turned into a frown. It'd be too easy to say she was bothered by something - she seemed disturbed. You watched her as she leaned against the counter, deep in thought.

"Something happened. Didn't it?"

Ironically, your words came out gently, as if you were talking to a child. You'd use the tone before when you'd speak to children at work... like Sophia. It wasn't demeaning or baby-talking, but you were heavily conscious of your word choice. Ariyah looked around.

"Okay, but promise me you won't say anything? You seem cool, but I could get in so much trouble if anybody knows I told you."

Surprised, you nodded in agreement. Ariyah did not seem to be the person to spill secrets so easily, so you were intrigued by her willingness. By the sound of it, she trusted you with something that could cause her to lose her internship. Or worse.

"I feel like... something is wrong. The kids they're having me watch - it's not a regular hospital," she moved her hands in big sweeping motions as if it'd cause the right words to tumble out of her mouth, "It's psychiatric. I've noticed a pattern in the group they gave me."

You stood violently still as she spoke, giving her every ounce of your full attention.

"I must be crazy. I must begoingcrazy. I'm just supposed to be encouraging healthy play - no therapy, no consultation. Yet..."

Ariyah trailed off heavy in thought. You were very conscious of your limbs beside your torso and the weight on your feet. You felt out of place, but you kept silent until she spoke again.

"Last Friday we did arts and crafts activities. With this age group, it was mostly drawing and coloring and learning to share and interact. A few of the kids were drawing the same thing, but none of them had talked about it beforehand. It was - a creature? I'm not sure. But I thought it was odd that they chose that, right?" She began fiddling her fingernails, plucking and pulling at the skin.

"I know it's like - whatever! I shouldn't care about it too much, but I was worried. I brought it up to the staff members when I wrote my report. I write one every time I'm there to note the session and any changes or improvements in behavior. They commented on my notes, but that isn't the weird part. They told me not to worry about it; that it wasn't the concern of the study. Doesn't that sound strange to you?

"It made me so mad, but I wasn't sure what to do. They seemed so defensive that I even brought it up, but now I can't ignore it. It's all I think of. Every minute of every day. How can you tell me to just ignore something like that? I don't know. Does it seem weird to you?"

Ariyah looked up at you, her eyes pleading. She wanted you to say yes, she needed to know that she wasn't alone. She was a student who had gone into her internship believing in good in the world. Unfortunately for Ariyah, she was faced with a harsh, nasty truth. You stared at her. She knew this truth was real, she'd seen it before, but she had hope that maybe things were changing. You pitied Ariyah and you knew that she was right. Something odd was happening.

"I do think it sounds weird. They told you to pretend it wasn't happening?"

Ariyah sighed a breath of relief, all the tension leaving her at your agreement.

"Exactly, but that isn't all. It gets worse. Something is disturbing these kids. I go bi-weekly. Fridays and Tuesdays. This Tuesday was just the same. I tried to ignore it, but they drew thisthingagain."

You chanced it, "What did it look like?"

She paused, "A man. With a suit and a tie. And something behind him."

You shivered slightly, but Ariyah didn't notice over her shaking legs. She was quaking with fear.

"I'm worried. That's a bad sign, right? All of them drawing the same person - do you think that could mean it's a bigger issue? I know it's a wild guess but, mass paranoia? Schizophrenia shared between all of them."

Knowledge was a painful thing. You pretended not to know that this was something far worse than paranoia and far worse than a real person. This was something demonic. You weren't sure if Ariyah was a religious person, but you were sure that spouting off over demons would completely invalidate her feelings. She was worried about medical malpractice. She was worried for the kids. Importantly, she didn't know what you knew.

"I think that's... something."

Tears welled in her eyes and your heart panged for Ariyah. Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to stop herself from sobbing. You rounded the counter, quickly moving to console her.

"Hey, hey," you hushed, "What's wrong?"

Without a word, she flopped into your arms, burying her face into your chest with pure fear. She cried for a few moments, muffled in the fabric of her t-shirt you wore. After a few moments, she calmed and steadied her lips near your ear. She whispered so quietly, smaller than a mouse as if worried someone else was listening.

"I think I've seen it!" she whimpered, "What the kids draw."

"I see it when I close my eyes!" she had grown into a wail, holding onto you like a lifeboat. What were you supposed to do? What could you possibly say?

Trying not to panic - for Ariyah's sake - you held onto her. No matter what you said, you knew it couldn't fix anything. You could hardly manage to make her feel better, when the guilt of knowing the truth was eating you alive. It wasn't going to get better. Things were going to get much worse for Ariyah.

As if nothing else mattered in the world, because (really) nothing else did, you held onto her in her kitchenette until her tears ran dry, the sobbing ceased, and her legs stopped shaking with exhaustion. The entire time, you absentmindedly rubbed her back until your fingers numbed from the repetitive sensation. You felt her collapse, and you followed her down to the floor, bracing her against your body so she didn't fall.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

She sounded dehydrated and not fully there.

"You don't have to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong," you reassured her.

"What are you talking about? I had a complete mental breakdown in front of you. I just met you!"

Finally gathering the strength to sit up on her own, she rubbed away the tears staining her cheeks white. You waved your hand, tossing your wrist exaggeratively.

"Don't even worry. College sucks and you've got all of this on your plate? I think that was a breakdown waiting to happen. I'm just glad it was with someone safe."

Ariyah gave you a toothy smile, but as the words came out you cringed. Were you someone safe? You could hardly guarantee that.

He is watching.

You could not forget that. He knew you. He brought you here.

"Can I say one more thing? Before I stop?" she asked you.

"Go on,"

"I think... I'm terrified to be alone. I think it's trying to take me."

Ariyah finished the words and no tears followed. With incredible resilience, she pushed herself up from the floor and held out a hand for you. Grabbing it, she helped pull you up and reached into the fridge.

"Since I got sidetracked, the spoons should be cold enough," she giggled.

She giggled.You admired her, genuinely. She wasn't entirely sure, but she knew that she was in danger, yet here she was. Brow furrowing, you grew angry. Why was it doing this to her? Why did it have to hurt good people?

In front of you, Ariyah held out four large spoons. You grabbed one and held the freezing-cold metal against one of the bruises. You both had two hands, so both of you held a spoon in one and pressed it firmly against a hickey. After the emotional outburst, the two of you enjoyed the quiet, listening to the sound of the fridge buzz.

Ten minutes passed quickly and she took a peek at your speckled neck.

"Eh," she made a face.

"Didn't work?" you sighed.

"Well," she paused," I think it worked a little bit. Maybe the reds are a bit less red... But yeah you totally still look f*cked up."

The two of you abrupted in laughs.

"Ah, sh*t."

"Sorry. If you don't want to die out there I think you'll just have to rock it."

Face flushed at the thought, you leaned against her counter and placed the spoons in the sink.

"Try and look on the bright side - it must be nice to know you have someone and that someone has you."

You kept respectful and nodded in agreement. Little did she know, your relationship status was an absolute clusterf*ck.

"I don't want to hold you up for too long. Your friend is still waiting downstairs," her spoons followed, clanging together in the sink basin.

"I'll see the both of you tomorrow - for game night?" she asked you. You had no intention of stealing her clothes after the whole ordeal, so you nodded and sealed your and Toby's plans for tomorrow night.

"Yup. Both of us." you nodded.

After all was said and done, Ariyah led you back into the hallway, back to the elevator, and all the way downstairs into the lobby. To your surprise, Toby had kept his promise and was still waiting right next to the bulletin board where you had left him. Ariyah looked away sheepishly at this as she handed you off to him and headed back to her apartment.

You looked Toby in the eyes, "we have game night tomorrow," you informed him.

"Sweet," he said.

Looking back to the bulletin board, you read the flier again. Tomorrow was Wednesday and the event would take place in one of the University libraries in the practice presentation room.

"Rodgers library. 7 P.M. You're in charge of remembering that, Toby."

"Oh, trust me. I will not be forgetting," he smirked, "now that you're all well-dressed, you ready to go?"

The truth was you were far from ready to go. You were still unhappy over your hickey situation and were not pleased for Tim and Brian to see, but it was so much warmer further down south than in Missouri.

Toby held the door open for you as you left. It was much darker outside than before, as the two of you had been gone for quite a while by now. Although it was warm, it was still late winter.

"Do you think we'll need a student ID to get into the library also? I don't think we'll be as lucky in a more policed area. If someone questions us, we're f*cked."

"7 P.M. in the library, maybe not. We'll figure it out when we get there. If the students here will let us into their apartment without checking if we are even students, then I'm sure someone will let us into the library, even though we aren't students."

"I guess you're right."

You spotted the car across the street, surprised Tim and Brian were still waiting for you to return. Clumsily, you held your pile of clothes in your arms as you and Toby crossed the street back to the car. Blood was rushing in your ears as you walked up to the passenger side.

"I call shot-gun!" Toby called out.

You froze.

"No? I already have the front seat."

"Finders keepers," he pushed you out of the way and sat beside Brian in the front.

f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.

Slowly, you walked around the car. You muttered under your breath. God dammit. He did this on purpose. Opening the door, you slumped down in the seat beside Tim and tried to turn yourself away from him.

Brian stretched from the front seat, "Hgnnnnn what took you guys so long? Find something good?"

The car was mostly silent as Brian started the engine.

"C'mon." he sang, "I need details! What did you learn today?" he called your name and turned to look at you.

"Oh?"

A wicked smile never left his lips, he looked over to Tim as if to say, "You seeing this sh*t?" and turned back in his seat. His hands gripped the wheel as he began to chuckle uncontrollably. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Toby sitting with his legs open wide and a smirk on his face - seen from the pull-down visor mirror.

By now, he'd done it so many times it was as if he knew you'd look. Once again, he seemed proud of himself.

"That does make things interesting," Brian said, pulling out of the parking space.

Like a deer caught in headlights, you slowly turned your gaze towards Tim, curious if he were looking your way. You met his eye contact. The color wasn't too far off from Toby's, but Tim's deep-set eyes set them apart. To your surprise, he didn't look solemn and betrayed. He looked jealous; angry.

Talk about mixed messages.

"Well! Boy am I tired," you distracted, "where are we staying?"

"The nearest motel is fine. I figure we plan to be in the area the next few days?"

"That's right," You had gotten distracted. You should probably tell Brian and Tim the real reason you'd been gone for so long.

"I met someone in there. I think she's why we are here."

"Why do you say that?" Brian questioned as he drove through the stop-and-go traffic.

"She said she saw... uh.It."you hinted.

"Really? Is that true, Toby?"

Toby shrugged in response, "I don't know. Wasn't there."

Brian seemed impressed with you, "So you found this out all on your own? You really do seem special. Tell me how you managed that?"

To be frank, you weren't entirely sure if Brian was being sarcastic or genuine. Regardless, you continued and explained what had happened, including the entire retelling of Ariyah's internship story, "I don't know what it wants, but clearly this has something to do with her, yeah? Do you think it wants her to be one of us?"

"Yikes," Toby laughed, "sounds like it wants her gone."

"What! That can't be right. If it wants her gone, why doesn't it just get rid of her?"

"There can be many reasons, but I think it wants to watch you," Brian explained.

"Well, it's mistaken. I'm not hurting her."

"You already did," Tim croaked out beside you.

"You don't know that," you argued as Brian turned a corner.

"You've already helped bring us to her. If you don't do it, we will. And I have a feeling you will bemuch more merciful." Tim said.

As Brian pulled into the motel parking lot, your chest tightened. You were such a dumb fool. You should've refused everything, and now you'd backed yourself into a corner. Looking at the three men around you, you reminded yourself of where you were. Brian was a murderer. Tim was a murderer. Toby was a murderer. Why did you keep forgetting?

Though you knew what they were capable of, you hadn't seen much. Tim was implying that if you didn't work with them, Ariyah would suffer. Everyone exited the vehicle and you followed suit, walking close behind them. Would they truly do something like that?

God, you felt like such a loser. You wanted the feeling to go away. Maybe you needed post-nut clarity to finally get them out of your head so you could focus on what was most important.

Brian checked in quickly. Same as weeks before, he requested the usual: two queen beds; smoking. Usually, you and Tim shared the bed. It didn't feel right before, but now it felt even worse. All of you trailed to the room, placing your minimal valuables inside as you settled. Brian jumped onto the bed you sat on, laying with his arms behind his head. He stared at you.

"Brian,"

"What's up?" he asked.

"Why are you so close to me right now?"

It came out harsh, but you were overwhelmed.

"I was thinking, why don't we switch things up and you and I share the bed this time? I bet you want a break from clingy and space-heater over there."

You glanced over to the other bed. Tim had already taken off his boots and pulled himself under the covers. Toby smiled at you. You supposed Brian was the most neutral option, so you let it go.

"Fine," you said, untying your shoes. It felt strange being next to him, rather than the other two.

"So you excited to pretend to be a student?" he asked.

"I'm not a very good liar," you admitted.

"Well, it already got you this far," he said, " this girl sounds easy to deceive."

"Don't say that about her," you whispered as Toby turned off the lights and settled down beside Tim.

"Or what? You're such a little pacifist, are you gonna do something about it?" he enunciated each word carefully, his drawl somewhat heavier.

"Never said I was a pacifist. You made that up,"He grinned from beside you."I don't like hurting people who don't deserve it. Is that what you want to hear?" Both of you were whispering at each other, careful not to bother the bed next to you.

"So you will hurt if you want? I'll say. I'm excited to see how that looks,"

"You sound like Toby."

Brian laughed at your response.

"We aren't that different, he and I."

"Excuse me," you said, getting up without a response back. You made your way to the small motel bathroom. It was surprisingly clean, but you were suspicious of the white tile floors. You looked and yourself in the mirror. The bruises had gotten much lighter - but by now you weren't sure if it was from the spoons or the regeneration. Embarrassed, you turned on the shower and let the water warm up. The clothes from Ariyah were rather clean, so you decided you'd change back into them once you were done.

When the water was hot, you stripped your clothes down and stepped into the stream. You rubbed your face. You were so unbelievably frustrated.

*nsfw starts*

You thought back to earlier and considered touching yourself. Maybe emotional release would help a lot. You were pent up from the days prior and even before then you hadn't cum in months. It wouldn't be crazy to think it could prevent you from doing something incredibly stupid, like what had happened with Toby.

You reached your hands between your legs as you stood under the water. The pads of your fingers played along your skin, teasing the idea.

Should you? Could you? You were admittedly worried that you'd become so pent up that you'd be unable to relax and finish. Your finger ran along your lips, circling figure-eights around your cl*t. It felt wonderful. Chills rolled down your spine. You wanted to take it slow.

Continuing to rub, you held your body up against the shower wall. You whimpered and reached up to caress your neck. It would've been nice to forget everything and go all the way with Toby. Forgetting made you feel relieved. You thought back to how nice it felt while he sucked at your neck and nibbled at your skin. You shook your head, trying to physically throw the thoughts away. This was all concerning yourself, you didn't want to be thinking of them right now.

Playing with yourself more, you kept going until slick dripped between your legs, not allowing yourself to let out more than a huff of air.

Your face heated up. You realized you didn't want to be heard by them, but that only made you self-conscious. The thought of all of them knowing what you were doing made you shake - especially considering two of the boys liked you for sure. Your horrible, depraved mind began to wander. You recalled what you thought in the car. As long as it's in your head, it doesn't matter what anyone else thought. You can enjoy it - in your head.

Hesitant, pushed forward by the taboo nature of the situation, you slipped a finger inside of yourself and let out the smallest gasp. Your other hand grabbed to hold onto the wall. Truthfully, they couldn't have heard the noise, as the sound of the falling water had drowned it out. You thought about how you felt with your finger inside of yourself. Your secret fantasy had made you very wet.

You began pumping in and out at a slow pace and imagined Toby's body pushed up against you. You began to touch yourself the way you thought he would touch you, eager and teasing. It made your hips buck forward. You slowed down. You didn't want to stop just yet; you didn't know when you'd be able to do this again if you wanted.

With your mind wandering, it was admittedly hard to think of Toby without Tim coming to mind. You thought about what it'd be like to f*ck him and that time you got plastered and begged him to kiss you - when you first met. He rejected you because you were drunk. He was sweet. Now, he knew there was something with you and Toby and he was jealous.

You dipped a second finger inside, the size stretching you open. Tim was probably thick, you imagined. He was already a big guy; it wouldn't be hard to guess what his dick looked like. It seemed as if he didn't want anything to do with you, but he did say if you changed your mind...

You wondered if he wanted to f*ck you, or if he'd only consider it to get to you before Toby. Slowing your pace, you felt Tim's weight holding you down as he pushed into you. Pushing your fingers in harder, you quickened your pace and rubbed your cl*t.

You wished you could moan and whimper, completely ignoring the boys outside, but the thought kept grounding you in reality. You came hard around your fingers and ground your hips into your hands.

"Oh f*ck!" you were still quiet, but the swear came out louder than everything before. You rode your climax until you stopped fluttering around yourself. Pulling your fingers out, you finished up your shower and washed your body. You felt a little bit better than before, but you were undoubtedly ashamed that you'd masturbat*d in the shower to them.

*nsfw ends*

Out of the shower, you dried off, dressed yourself, and readied yourself to reenter the room. The cool air of the motel room poured over you. Tim and Toby were fast asleep in their beds. Brian was still awake; still lying on his back with his hands behind his head. He was looking right at you. Your face flustered as you lay down next to him. Your skin felt prickly. It was worse. Way worse.

"'night y/n,"

You didn't respond to his deep, tired voice, but you could practically hear his smile. Your heart fluttered. As you laid there completely stiff, you wondered if somehow Brian had heard you. The thought drove you mad as you listened to Tim snore across from you. If Brian joined the mix, things would become far more complicated.

Using Tim's snores as a noise machine, you fell asleep to the repeating sound, finding comfort in it.

Chapter 17: Moon Presence

Chapter Text

Nighttime passed into day in the blink of an eye. You slept well, not so much as stirring throughout the night while Brian lay beside you. Still groggy from your slumber, you sat up at the sight of sunlight philtering through the motel's pathetic sheer curtains. Brian stood in the corner of the room, leaning against the counter. Your stomach ached at the sight of him, his figure tall and muscled.

Last night was an embarrassment, but the difference in you was significant. Your shoulders were relaxed, and your mind was clearer as if a weight had been lifted. However, you didn't expect to get flustered at the sight of him observing you with a far-from-subtle leer in your direction.

As you stretched across the mattress, you tried to keep composed. At first, you thought that your uneasiness around Brian would magically disappear overnight, but he proved you wrong. Brian wasn't stupid. If you kept your fidgetiness around him, he'd catch on quickly.

The microwave beeped twice, distracting you from your thoughts. Brian popped the door open and pulled out a ceramic mug. Steam danced from inside the cup as he poured in a packet of instant coffee and stirred it with a spoon.

Standing up, you walked past him and began rummaging through your suitcase. Finding a weather-appropriate change of clothes, you made your way to the restroom. The fluorescent lights in the room made your eyes sting. You half closed them as you shucked Ariyah's shirt and pants off of your body.

Your eyes began to adjust, so you took the opportunity to look over your figure. The hickies on your neck had faded, save for a few dark spots. The bite from Toby, however, was still red-hot and irritated on your neck - a reminder of the near sexual encounter the other day. You squirmed as you recalled how eager he was and how careless he turned as he bit down on your flesh.

Eyes trailing down further, you caught sight of the mark between your breasts. Once it stopped hurting, you'd forgotten about it and shoved it into the back of your mind, preferring not to think about it. The swelling had gone down and made the old wound appear like a burn scar: rough and discolored. You traced over it, absentmindedly.

From what you gathered, your body healed best after a nap or a good night's sleep. It was a relief. You worried that Toby's marks would still be there for days on end.

You slipped into your clothes. Thankfully, you had found a pair of shorts in your suitcase as well as a baggy tee shirt. As you wiggled into the shorts, you took notice of your bare legs and smiled. Winter was over.

The gloomy weather from the past few months, coupled with how terrible everything had been, made winter feel like years. Spring was coming down on you like a breath of fresh air - like hope. The dewy morning breeze, the pollen from blooming flowers, the rainstorms - every inch of it pulled you out from where you were. If you closed your eyes or tried to ignore the three men accompanying you, you could pretend you were on a family vacation with ease.

It felt wrong, but the motels you despised now made you feel better. These walls held history, but it was all by choice. No lives were lost for you to be here. You realized you had taken it for granted, all because you liked having space away from the boys.

Before your stomach swamped with guilt, you straightened out your shirt and checked yourself out in the bathroom mirror. Stomach still aching, you wondered if you should fix up your hair. Shouldn't you make a good impression? Unfortunately, you didn't have much to work with - Tim only packed the haircare products he thought were necessary. Frankly, he was useless. You knew you had a hairbrush and some hair ties, but that was it. Sighing, you settled for anything (that would hide your suffering curls/that would hide your flat unstyled hair).

Once finished, you scooped Ariyah's clothes into a pile in your hands and left the bathroom. It was still early in the morning and would be hours before you could meet up with Ariyah again. You tossed her clothes onto the bed and sat down beside them.

"Coffee?" Brian offered, holding out a cup for you. His smile widened as you grabbed it from him.

You thanked him and stared into it before drinking, swirling the liquid around. The color was just as you liked it. As you took a small sip, Brian leaned against the counter again. The coffee was warm but not hot enough to scald your tongue. The quality was sh*tty and pretty much what you'd expect from instant coffee, but it was palatable enough.

"You excited?" Brian questioned you.

"Excited about what?"

"Tonight."

You took a bigger sip from your coffee. Were you supposed to be excited?Ithad things planned for Ariyah and you were horrified to find out what. Excited was a far cry from the words you would use to describe your current emotions.

"You're thinking too hard about it. Just have fun." Brian said in response to your silence.

"How am I supposed to? I don't think any of this is fun."

Brian stared at you with a knowing look in his eyes. Before he answered, he drank from his cup.

"Is there any point in being miserable about it? Don't you wanna pretend you're someone else for the day? I think that's exciting enough." he'd mentioned the same thing yesterday - being excited to pretend.

"Well, unlike you I don't like lying to people," you reminded him.

Rather than angering, Brian smirked. You changed the topic, not wanting to play into the idea of Ariyah and whatit wanted.

"Where is everyone else?" you asked. Looking around the room, Tim and Toby were nowhere to be seen.

"Went to buy cigarettes."

You couldn't imagine why they would want to go together; all things considered, but at least they'd be back soon enough. You took another sip, drawing the bitter liquid into your mouth. You felt small and vulnerable in the room with Brian staring down at you.

"You smoke?"

"Only sometimes," he shrugged.

His eye contact was too much. You broke it and looked back down at your coffee cup. An intense nagging in the back of your mind told you that he knew - there was no way he didn't with the way he stared you down. Either he knew what had happened, or he knew you were hiding something. Regardless, your palms were sweaty and you shifted the cup into your other hand. Holding your breath, you waited for Tim to open the door and break the silence, but he never did.

"Why are you staring at me?" you finally spat out under the pressure.

"I'm very curious about you," Brian spoke your name, the sound of it foreign as it fell off his tongue. You paused.

"What's there to be curious about? I've been living with you for months now," you drank more of the coffee, the warm drink soothing you. You held onto the mug like a vice.

"Truth is, I feel like I don't know you. I've seen bits and pieces, but I don't got it figured out at all. And then you and Toby? To be honest, I didn't expect that from you," he trailed off for a moment and observed you with a careful look.You buried your nose into the cup, trying to hide yourself as you drank from it again. Why did he want to talk about this?

"Made me realize that there's a lot more to you than I've seen. You're still opening up. Getting comfortable." he continued, his tone darkening, "And I really like to get to know people."

Frowning, you stared into the cup. It was empty.

"Stay curious. I prefer it that way,"

Brian's laugh filled the room, his arms now propping himself up against the counter.

"Tim told me he broke things off," Brian started.

Oh god, why did he think you wanted to talk about this? You simply hummed in response. Of course, Tim told him everything. You couldn't help yourself from feeling betrayed, but you were stupid to pretend that nobody knew. Secrets didn't last long around the three.

"But I can tell he's jealous. Can you?" he asked. It was obvious - when the four of you were in the car together, every moment felt tense.

"They'll be here soon," you deflected.

Brian surveyed the door as he spoke to you, "I'm sure they will. But what do you think, huh? Tell me, are you using Toby to get back at him?"

"No," you denied it instantly, "Tim isn't into me and I can do whatever I want."

"C'mon. He's so into you. He only did it for you, anyway," Brian drawled on.

A heavy frown painted your face, "Still, he broke it off and I can do what I want. If he wanted to stay together, he shouldn't have said anything at all."

Brian nodded as you spoke, "Fair, but still. Going for his roommate and friend? That's a pretty low blow."

"What, was I supposed to go on Tinder and find someone else? Stop gossiping and leave it be. You're such an instigator," you scoffed. You knew what an interrogation felt like.

Abruptly, you stood up and walked up to Brian. For a moment, you could barely see his eyes squint, but he stopped as you placed the empty mug on the counter.

"Thanks for the coffee, Brian."

Brian's interest in your relationships made you even more guilty about last night. You liked both Toby and Tim and you had no clue how you were going to deal with it. Sighing, you calmed yourself. You wouldn't have to deal with it. This was all going to go away soon.

"You're right," Brian kept going, "Tim does deserve it, but I want you to tell me what you're getting out of all of this. A few days ago, you rejected Toby. Do you like playing hard to get?"

Snapping your head to him, you expected to see the usual sh*t-eating grin on his face. Instead, Brian appeared dead serious.

"It's not hard to get! As far as I'm concerned when Toby first mentioned it, I was still with Tim," you explained yourself.

"I'm sure neither of them mind-" The door to the room clicked open, Tim and Toby trailing inside. Walking back to sit on the bed, you hoped neither of them had heard the end of your conversation. Crossing your legs, you looked down, quiet.

Toby forced your attention by standing right in front of you. In his hands, he shoved forward a plastic grocery bag. Wordless, he gestured it toward you, and you grabbed it without hesitation. It wasn't easy to ignore the sight of his bare arms - something you had never seen before. He wore a short-sleeved shirt. As you had imagined days prior, thick scars scattered up his forearms. Though you paused, you forced yourself not to dwell on it.

"Thanks, what is it?" but you couldn't get yourself to smile. Pulling it into your lap, you peeked inside to find another bag of the same snack he'd bought you earlier. The mattress dipped as he sat beside you. You couldn't lift your head. It was obvious everyone's eyes were on you. Thanking him again, you wanted to origami yourself out of existence.

You drew the snack bag out of the grocery sack and opened it. Sure, it wasn't the best breakfast, but you didn't care. You were bored and would do anything to take some of the pressure off. Toby reached behind the two of you to grab the clump of Ariyah's clothes. As you ate, he shoved them into the sack and tied the handles of the bag into a tight bow. Chewing down, you wondered how differently the morning would have gone if Toby had been alone in the room with you instead of Brian.

You sighed, frustrated all over again. Last night was supposed to make things better, so why did you feel this way? The post-nut clarity was supposed to make you realize that everything was superficial - that you were deprived. Instead, that same needy feeling was bubbling up all over your skin once more.

With the thought of the boys bouncing around your skull, the next eight hours passed like clouds in the sky. You watched as each one crawled across the horizon and changed shape, as you had nothing better to do. All four of you were holed up together in the motel, with little interest in wandering around the city. It was a painful process that made you antsy and itchy all over.

While you all waited around, passing time, Toby was glued to your hip. Though he talked to you about a myriad of things, the topic of weapons kept reoccurring. He seemed hell-bent on making sure you could protect yourself, if need be, even though you reminded him of your conversation from the other day. Your lack of interest in getting involved hadn't shifted. Regardless, he pushed.

"Toby, I really don't think someone's gonna try to kill us at game night,"

Tim's laugh wasn't subtle. From his seat in one of the motel chairs, you caught him glance your way, a lit cigarette between his lips.

"Okay, buh-but still, you need to know. It's gonna save you a lot of trouble if you start early,"

You knew he hadn't forgotten - Toby was just being hopeful. Frowning, he continued, "I could show you a bit if you wuh-wanted."

You hummed as a response and closed your eyes as you lay still on the bed. It was nice that Toby was concerned, but you had already decided. You weren't getting involved in this. As long as you didn't hurt anyone, you were sure no one would do the same to you.

That thought lingered and your dread increased as the clock ticked closer to seven. Later in the evening, the four of you bought dinner from a corner store. Although you were on edge, everyone else resumed their usual chatter as they ate - as if nothing had happened.

When it was time to leave, you grabbed the bag of Ariyah's clothes and walked to the car with nothing else to bring. Was there something you should bring? You dwelled on it.

You didn't exactly know what was expected of you. You'd never been to one of their activity nights before - you didn't even live in the building. f*ck - you weren't even a student! What if they pointed out how old you were? Trying to put your mind in Brian's perspective, you pretended to be a student - but you knew you were f*cked. Sure, you could lie about a bunch of things, simply pulling from your actual university experience, but that wasn't going to be easy. With any digging, it would be obvious you had gone to school somewhere else. All it would take is one question about a well-known professor or class and you were done for.

During the short car ride, you thought over your "Plan B"... and your "Plan C", but when Toby ticked beside you, you realized that your story would crumble when it didn't make sense next to his.

Brian pulled into the parking lot and began making his way further into the property.

The university campus was massive. From the safety of the car, Brian and Tim did their best to verbally guide you to where the correct library was. They weren't interested in hanging around the area much longer. Brian stopped beside the curb, allowing you and Toby to stumble out and onto the sidewalk. You held Ariyah's clothes in the grocery sack and carried them close to your chest.

Walking side by side, Toby held the front doors as you stepped into the building. The chilled air hit you instantly. A few people were scattered throughout the room, sitting at computer desks and project tables. Tonight's late-night crowd consisted of tired graduate students and procrastinating night owls. It was quiet and you didn't see a single student accompanied by a friend. You did your best not to bother them as you whispered to Toby, but a few of them still looked your way.

"This feels weird, like I'm forgetting something," you admitted.

"You'll be okay," Toby beamed at you. He seemed more excited than ever.

"What if I start panicking? What if I need an out?" you whispered back to him, and some nearby students shot you a nasty glare.

"Tell me you have a migraine and we'll leave."

The solution did make you feel a bit better. You were worried you'd have to sit through the entire event. The concept of getting out in public again was something you were getting used to. The busy library was a huge step. As you and Toby rounded the corner down a hallway, the presentation room stood out like a sore thumb.

A large poster board sat outside of the room, decorated with colorful bubble letters. The poster read: "RUTHERFORD HALL COMMUNITY NIGHT". You glanced over to Toby, looking for reassurance, which he returned with a gentle pat on your shoulder.

Walking up to the door, you peeked inside through a small rectangular window. From the hall, you recognized Ariyah among some strangers. Her eyes caught yours and she smiled, waving excitedly at you. Feeling out of place, you opened the door and shuffled inside.

"Welcome!" a collection of voices called to the two of you. A few of the students remained interested in their conversations and some checked out the two of you - especially Toby and his facial piercings. He easily stood out among all of you.

"Come take a seat. We still have a few minutes before we start." Ariyah spoke.

The room was a small square with corporate-styled carpeting that laid flat and sad against the floor. In the center of the room were two long tables pushed together. There was a whiteboard attached to the wall on one side of the room and plenty of chairs surrounding the table. Set on top of it was a jumbo Jenga set, already put together meticulously. Before sitting, you handed Ariyah the clothes and thanked her. She took the bag with both hands and gasped at the sight of your neck.

"Wow! It worked," she whispered to you. Sheepishly, you waved her off and moved to sit at the table, Toby right beside you. You knew that the spoons hadn't done much to aid your healing process, but it wouldn't hurt if she never found out. Your limbs felt strange, so you tucked your arms around yourself and leaned back against your chair. As all of you waited for the event to start, a few others sat down around the table. You took note of a tired-looking girl who chose to sit on your other side, a blonde boy across the table from you, and a shy girl sitting on the same side as him, at the other end of the table.

"Hey-" the tired girl spoke, "You're that girl Ariyah mentioned? Glad you came. She puts a lot of effort into the activity nights."

"It's no problem," you smiled back at the girl. It was embarrassing how hard your chest was beating, but no one caught on or mentioned your nervousness. Toby, however, reached his hand out and placed it discretely on your upper thigh.

When no one said anything else to keep the talk going, you quieted and stuck to observing those around you. You didn't want to get overzealous and say something stupid and incriminating. Two other students trickled in through the door, whom Ariyah greeted. Your eyes flicked over to a plain clock on the wall above the door and watched as the minute hand ticked over.

Ariyah was punctual.

At exactly seven o'clock, she headed over to the table and greeted everyone sat together.

"I have some snacks if anybody's hungry," she said, pulling a carton of Goldfish and juice boxes from the floor. The blonde and the tired girl grabbed some as the other students filled in the seats around the table. There were three chairs at each side of the square and a rubber mat laid over the table. With everyone seated, there were four empty seats. Ariyah sat across from you and Toby, directly in between the blonde and the shy girl.

"Since we have some new faces around, do we want to start by sharing our names?" Ariyah asked.

No one was being forced and Ariyah wasn't demanding everyone to do icebreakers, so each person quickly shared their names, going around the table. You gathered that the blonde boy was named Derek, the shy girl Destiny, and the tired girl Bec.

"So, truth or dare Jenga won?" Bec asked.

Ariyah nodded and reached under the table again, collecting a large popcorn bowl.

"Almost forgot!" she said, pulling out a piece of paper, "The yellow paper slips in the bowl are thedares,the truths are on the paper. If you don't want to answer the truth, then you draw a dare from the bowl."

Bec seemed a bit frustrated with this but kept quiet.

"As long as the dares are good, this is way better than Uno," Derek explained.

"Trust me," Ariyah pushed the bowl onto the table, "I spent a long time on them."

"Yeah, but you're kinda lame," A few students laughed at Derek's joke.

"I had Damien help me because I knew you would say that."Although Derek was being an asshole, Ariyah smiled proudly. You inspected the faces around the square table, trying to read the attitude of the room. Most of the students turned more excited than before at the mention of Damien.

Now that you thought about it, you saw how someone could find the activity night boring. Even though she had requested the private presentation room, no one could sneak in alcohol or be loud much at all. You were sure most of them felt some kind of way about it - but college parties were far behind you. You thought Ariyah's idea to be refreshing. The fact that you wouldn't be coerced into drinking was a plus.

"Okay! Does anybody want to start first?"

When no one volunteered, Bec shot her hand into the air.

"Great! Get started then."

Bec reached out, grabbing a loose Jenga piece and pulling it out successfully. She flipped the piece in her hand and read out a number written in bright pink Sharpie. "Fifteen." she read before placing the Jenga piece on top of the tower. Ariyah grinned as she inspected the paper of truths.

"Number fifteen is... What is the most embarrassing thing that happened to you on campus?"

Everyone turned to Bec expectantly. She sighed, cringing as she thought, but smiled the entire time.

"I bought a coffee at the Student Union and tripped over nothing-" Destiny's mouth gaped open, second-hand horrified as Bec spoke, "Not only did I fall in front of everyone, but the lid fell off and the coffee exploded like ten feet in front of me. It soaked a professor's pants that was eating at one of the tables."

Everyone laughed at Bec's story. She twisted to look at you, "You next?"

Toby's hand squeezed and you nodded. Doing the same as Bec, you leaned forward to find a loose piece and read the number before placing it on top of the tower.

"Twenty-four is..."

This time Ariyah frowned, looking furious, "Ugh, dammit Damien."

Derek perked up, leaning over Ariyah's shoulder with curiosity to find truth twenty-four. He cackled, "Now that's what I'm talking about! Better than Uno, baby-"

"What's it say?" Destiny asked.

"What's your body count?" Derek wheezed out; his eyes fixed heavy on yours. Toby squeezed you even harder, and you felt the pressure of everyone turning to look at you. At your silence, Ariyah apologized, "You don't have to answer that,"

"C'mon, there's nothing wrong with that question. We're all adults," Derek cooed.

"Yeah, but it's misogynistic and gross," Ariyah pouted.

"But you're right, she doesn't have to answer," Derek gestured to the bowl, "You can always pull a dare."

Smirking, you took up the offer, "Fine, hand me the bowl."

Once it was passed to you, you shuffled your hand around the papers until your fingers plucked one out. Using both hands, you opened the small slip and read the dare out loud.

"Hold hands with the person to your right for three turns," your eyes flicked to Bec. She sighed and held her hand out for you. In return, you grabbed it with slightly sweaty palms.

"That's mild. Ariyah - are you sure Damien wrote these," Derek pried and Ariyah crossed her arms.

"Every dare can't be f*cking bat-sh*t crazy. Some gotta be okay enough to make the crazy ones better," Bec defended her.

Toby leaned forward, hand leaving your thigh as he stood to get closer to the tower, "It's my turn," he uttered to no one in particular. You could tell his twitching had increased, but he still managed to ease a wooden piece out and read the number aloud.

"Three," He placed the piece on the top of the tower, jerking his arm as he did so. Miraculously, the tower didn't crash over. From across the table, you noticed Destiny sitting with her mouth gaped open, staring rudely at Toby's scars. When Toby sat down next to you, hand returning to your thigh, Destiny's gaze shifted to meet yours. Her pale, freckled face instantly flushed bright red, and she immediately looked somewhere else.

"Where's the most f*cked up place you've had sex?"Ariyah read the question with confusion and disappointment. Beside her, Derek leaned even closer.

"I'll take a dare," Toby said and Derek instantly protested.

"Oh, come on man! I see your style, I bet you're into some freaky sh*t-"

At this, Derek shifted his attention to you, very aware that you and Toby were presenting yourselves as an item. The way he looked over to you made your skin itch. "So, tell me- public bathroom? Church? A funeral?" Derek's guesses grew more outlandish. Toby rustled through the bowl in response, but his stature seemed tense.

"Have someone send an embarrassing text to someone in your contacts."Toby read to the room.

Without hesitation, he pulled his phone from his pocket and turned to hand it to you, but one of the other students spoke up.

"Hey, that's not fair! If you're a couple, I don't trust you with the dare. You're gonna go too easy on him," they grinned and a few others nodded.

"Well, I guess it's only fair," Ariyah looked to Toby, waiting for him to hand the phone to someone else. To your surprise, he tossed it over to Derek. Derek flipped through his phonebook with an eager eye and bit his lip as he searched.

"Damn dude. You got no bitches in here."

You could only imagine what that meant.

"Here," Derek decided, "you last texted this guy four months ago, so how about we remind him how much you miss him? To someone named Jack:I can't stop thinking about that big dick of yours. Hit me up."

There was a mixture of giggles and gasps around the room as Derek hit send. Derek tossed the phone back to Toby, who seemed relatively unbothered by the situation as he slipped the smartphone back into his pocket.

The truths and dares continued to go around the group at a crawl until the tower fell for the first time. Ariyah rebuilt it, turning many of the pieces upside-down to expose a secondary number - preventing the chances of someone getting the same truth. You all resumed the game where you left off. Once the three turns ended, you and Bec awkwardly released each other's hands.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly where you lost focus in the game. Sometime during one of the rounds, the atmosphere shifted.The air in the room felt thick and heavy like molasses. You could feel the pressure as it pushed down on your chest. While you certainly weren't smiling, you continued through each round of the game as the fogginess grew heavier. Every few moments, you were grounded back into reality by Toby's hand over your thigh, squeezing slightly to remind you of your turn.

Looking over to Toby, you wondered if he could feel it too. It washim. Unfortunately, Toby's face was unreadable. If anything, he seemed a bit bored. This time, you looked over to Ariyah and could tell instantly that she knew without a doubt. Sitting in her chair, she seemed just as zoned out as you. Her eyes were glossy, glazed over as if she were somewhere else entirely.

Curious, you turned to look at the clock above the door. It was getting later, already nine. How had time passed so quickly? From your peripheries, you spotted a faceless figure peering into the practice room - pale like the moon. Your body couldn't decide whether it wanted to freeze or jump. Instead, you whined out like a wounded animal, playing it off as a weird cough. Tingles ran up your spine as you imagineditsform, bent straight in half to look through the window.

Atap-tapcame to your left side, pulling you away from the sight. Toby held a juice box out to you, "Here, Schatzi,"he whispered. Eager, you took it and opened the plastic around the straw. Bending it, you punctured the small aluminum opening on the box and began sipping. With your eyes on the door again, you noticed that the figure was gone.

"I gotta bounce. Have an O-chem exam tomorrow," Derek said abruptly, stretching in the chair before getting up.

"It is getting late..." Bec mumbled, "I'll help you clean up?"

She turned to Ariyah, who was still spacing out. Surprisingly, she heard at least some of what Bec said and nodded slowly. Feeling a little faint, you look back to Toby, wondering what you should do next. He leaned back against the chair, looking a bit more irritated than bored.

"We'll help too," he spoke, "As a thanks for yesterday."

While the other students filtered out of the room, saying their thanks and goodbyes, you, Ariyah, Bec, and Toby stayed behind to clean up the room and pack Ariyah's things. Taking a disinfectant wipe, you wiped down the tables and chairs all of you sat at, pushing away crumbs and small juice stains.

Ariyah seemed uneasy as she gathered all of her things, including the Jenga box, snacks, and the bowl.

"We'll help you bring everything back to your room," Toby offered.

"It's a long walk, are you sure?" It was obvious that Ariyah wanted you to say yes but didn't feel comfortable outwardly accepting your help.

"Yeah. We aren't just gonna let you walk with all of this by yourself." Bec exclaimed.

Bec came forward and all three of you grabbed something from Ariyah's hands, "You lead the way," Bec smiled.

By now, you had felt a little bit better, yet Ariyah was still fidgeting. She stood meekly as she led the three of you through the library and outside to walk to her apartment. Based on Bec's concerned look, she also caught on to her bizarre behavior.

"Hey girl, are you feeling alright?" Bec asked, increasingly worried about Ariyah's jumpiness.

The four of you looked both ways before crossing the street.

"Do you also feel like someone is watching us?" Ariyah's voice came out small, barely louder than the sound of crickets chirping in the cool night air. Bec's head turned to look around the street. It was empty, not a soul walking by. Bec's brow furrowed.

"I don't think so?" she said, voice wavery.

At the front of her apartment complex, Ariyah pulled out her keycard and tapped it against the door lock. Once it clicked open, you all made your way inside the lobby. The quiet was eerie, not even the sound of the building ventilation making noise. You sardined yourself into the elevator, joining her up to her room.

"Becca, are you sure you didn't see anyone?" Ariyah asked again, now more urgent than before.

"I'm sure."

Ariyah faced forward the entire time, stiff as she fumbled with her keycard. As you watched her, you wondered if she only felt itor if she had seen it again at some point during the night.

The elevator door chimed open, and you all exited, pattering down the hall until you stopped in front of unit 305. She tapped her keycard again, waited until the lock clicked open, and pushed the door to the room ajar. She peeked in anxiously, then entered the room, letting you all follow behind.

"Where do you want us to put your stuff," Bec asked her.

Dazed, Ariyah pointed to an empty spot on the floor before turning on all of the lights in her apartment.

"What's that?" Toby pried, asking about a drawing on Ariyah's desk. She stiffened again and you glanced at the desk to see what he was talking about. Sure enough, it was a sketch of the faceless creature,a mazzikin,as Toby once referred to it.Once Bec put down the bowl, she joined in.

"It's nothing," Ariyah brushed off.

"Looks creepy," Bec said, "I didn't know you liked to draw," Bec took the picture in her hands to get a better look. As soon as Bec touched the paper, you felt a wave of itspresence wash over you again. You weren't sure what exactlyitmeant to show you with this, but you guessed that it felt strongly about this moment - as if it wanted you to watch what was happening very carefully.

Once more, you looked to Toby for any sign of what to do. He had a sharp glare in his eyes, something you hadn't seen in a while. It was reminiscent of when the two of you had first met and reminded you of the deadly nature Toby possessed. Through furrowed brows, he stared intently at Ariyah.

"Where did you come up with this? You wanna be the next Stephen King or something?" Bec joked, trying to lighten the tension.

"Something like that," Ariyah found it hard to look at any of you, but she squirmed under Toby's gaze.

"Ah, well. It was nice hanging out with you all. Derek's right, I also have an exam tomorrow. Should've studied, but it was fun to spend the night with you," Bec spoke, "I'll see you?"

Ariyah nodded, "I'll see you, Becca."

Bec gave Ariyah a sad look before leaving. Only the three of you remained in the tiny studio.

"I have a feeling that something bad is going to happen," Ariyah suddenly admitted to the both of you. Under the lights in her room, she appeared sick, a sheen of sweat coating her dark skin. It became difficult to think as you all slipped into a fugue state.

"I don't remember drawing that," she said, worried.

"So it was someone else?" Toby questioned her.

"I don't know!" she panicked, her voice growing louder and crackled.

The breath left your lungs as you felt your blood warm - that same fire-hot heat from when Toby killed you. As Ariyah grew more terrified, tears welled in your eyes as the pain in your veins intensified. Could you stand to fight it off for her sake? You would try.

She was now sobbing in front of you, pushed into a panic attack. The prickly sensation under your flesh drove you mad, but you continued to hold yourself back from screaming bloody murder.

"I can feel it on you," Ariyah sobbed out, "I can smell it- both of you. It knows you somehow."

"It duh-does," Toby agreed.

As if shocked by his response, Ariyah stumbled back, tripping over her backpack on the floor. She fell backward towards her bed, her spine slamming against the wooden bedframe. You cringed as she winded herself, the air trapped in her lungs as her diaphragm tensed. She gasped and choked as she tried to breathe again, like a beached fish. Mentally, you could barely stand to watch as she freaked out on the floor, but the burning sensation intensified under your skin.

The pain made you feel alive; real. It was horrible. Perverse. You tore your eyes away.

"Okay Toby, stop it!" you demanded him, but to your upset, he smiled.

"Can't you feel what it wants to happen?" he asked, looking back at Ariyah. She squirmed and screamed out. You felt your gut tighten at the noise.

"She can," he laughs this time.

"No, no, no, please!"

Ariyah was full-on mumbling now, pleading and begging as she leaned against the bed. Between her blabbering, she was choking, still unable to fill her lungs properly. Her words were so unintelligible, it took you a moment to realize she was begging for her life.

"C'mon, Schatzi.Itwill be so impressed if you do it.Itbrought you here for a reason."

Shaking your head, you panicked. You didn't want to impress it, that was the last thing you wanted to do. Toby left you in disbelief, your palms dripping with sweat as you stood in the middle of the room, the sound of Ariyah's babbling tuning in and out.

"-I can't believe I trusted you! I should've known better you f*cking asshole-"

She was huffing and panting, completely losing all sense of self as she realized what was coming. There was no way she was going to be let go after this. There was no way she'd be coming out of this room alive. Your heart dropped as her pleading grew more desperate. She asked her parents to forgive her. She asked if she'd see her grandmother again, in heaven.

You stood motionless between the two of them, Toby standing menacingly above you, egging you on, and Ariyah in a pathetic heap on the floor, switching between begging you not to do it and cursing herself for ever believing you. Toby drew in closer. Ariyah wailed now, snot and tears coating her face. Your chest burned intensely, and knives prodded away at you.

"Do it, Schatz." he urged you, "Do it!"

He grew more demanding. Why couldn't you stop it? You couldn't even move. Ariyah never deserved this, why did it even care about what some college student was busy doing?

At this thought, a fire burned brighter inside you. You wailed out and Toby shot forward, pulling your arm to toss you on top of Ariyah. Before you could move to back away from her, he held you still, grabbing onto your wrists from behind you. Ariyah was hysterical. It was a miracle that no one had knocked on the door. More than likely, someone in the complex had called the police at the sound of the screams.

"You have to do it!" Toby yelled at you.

"I can't!" you sobbed at the betrayed look on Ariyah's face.

"You have to-" Toby tried to position your hands around her neck before she shot her arms up and clawed desperately at your face. You yelped and pushed harder against Toby's chest, but he was a brick wall behind you. Annoyed, he swiped at her hands. With both of you straddling her, sitting on top of her legs, it was all she had to defend herself. Her manicured nails easily scratched away at your cheeks, dangerously grazing past your eye. Although you had no intention of following through with what Toby wanted, she whipped her head around her and patted her palms across the floor.

She grabbed hold of a metal bow compass and gripped it tightly in her fist. You tried desperately to lean back, but Toby's body prevented you from doing so. Screaming, she ripped her throat apart as she jammed the point into your left eye.

Your vision flashed at the sudden pain. Trying harder than before, you leaned your entire body back against Toby as you shrieked at the pain. Holy f*ck. You didn't know what to you as you tried to hold your eye still, the compass poking out. You struggled against both of them, squirming and unsure whether or not you should rip the sharp object from the eye entirely.

Out, out, out, get it out!You wanted it gone!

Body uncontrollably spasming, your abdomen lurched as your stomach heaved, expelling everything still in your stomach and directly onto Ariyah's chest. She screamed out again, this time in pure disgust as her hand reached out for the compass in your eye. The heaving and vomiting didn't stop. You couldn't tell whether your eye was watering or if blood was now streaming down your cheek.

"sh*t," you heard Toby mutter out from behind you as he reached into his pants and pulled out a pocket knife. Ariyah screamed again as she saw it flick open.

"Becca!"she yelled as her hand grabbed the compass and ripped it from you. Blood poured out against her. You couldn't stop retching, even though nothing was left to come out. With his left hand fixed on your shoulder, Toby reached around your side and shoved the knife deep into Ariyah's eye, quickly pulling away before slitting her throat.

Within a few fatal seconds, her screaming ceased entirely. She stopped moving. The air reeked of bile and blood, and you felt your vision blurring. You could see nothing from your injured eye, and even though the compass was gripped in Ariyah's lifeless hands, you could feel a phantom sensation of it lodged into your orbital. Despite the fight she had in her, Ariyah was gone.

You tried not to fall against her as you fought against unconsciousness.

"We need to go," Toby urged you. There was no way in hell that you'd be able to stand. Instead, you felt yourself fade out and slump into Toby's arms. You were vaguely aware as he pulled you up into a fireman carry. You were clinging to consciousness as he slung you across his shoulder, but as he walked through the apartment door, you drifted. You came to many times since then, gathering bits and pieces as your mutilated eye leaked blood onto Toby's shirt.

To your knowledge, no one came up to Toby as he carried you through the hallway and ran down the staircase into the lobby, but you had also never seen him call or text Brian to meet you outside with the car. He sprinted, throwing you into the backseat of the Jeep Cherokee and getting in beside you. You were writhing against the seats.

"What the f*ck happened?" Brian yelled from the front seat. Toby urged him to drive and ask questions later. Brian obeyed, getting away from the apartment as quickly as possible.

You retched once or twice, again, nothing there to vacate your stomach.

"You're a dick!" you kicked at Toby once you were finally able to speak. The words were slurred together. No one responded. Were you too incoherent? With the energy you did have, you kicked Toby again. You hated that he didn't react at all.

"Dick!" you screeched out at him.

"She's bleeding all over the back of the car, Toby." Brian started lecturing him. You were hurt that he seemed more upset about your blood than he was about your grievous injury.

As Brian swerved and turned down the streets, you fainted, fading into an inky state of unconsciousness.

You dreamt about the tall man and his moon-like face. The entire time, it stared back down at you, unmoving and unreadable. In the dreariness, your eye ached, occasionally flaring up with searing pain. It felt like days that you stared up at it, trapped in its muddy grasp. Strangely, you didn't feel threatened by its touch. The sensation was cooling, like a blue oasis in the middle of a desert. Something about it almost felt sickeningly nurturing.

Groaning, you blinked yourself awake, each flicker of your eyelids acting like needles behind your eye. You winced out, the sensation unbearable. Instinctively, you reached up to touch your eyelid but retched all over again when you realized it had barely managed to form itself back together.

"Hey, it's okay," Brian's voice came quiet from beside you, not quite panicked, but ushering you with reassurance.

"Just keep your eyes closed for now,"

Exhausted and nauseous, you did as he said and closed both eyes. At first, the movement of your eyelid scraping across the wound felt torturous. After some time, the pain subsided.

"You got pretty f*cked up back there. Once you're better, I expect to hear all about it."

Brian's voice was stern and domineering. He was furious.

"I promise you, it's not my fault,"

You muttered the words, but Brian shushed you. With your eyes closed, you listened to the TV in the background and imagined what was happening on the screen. Eventually, you fell asleep once more.

Chapter 18: Panopticon

Chapter Text

Sleep ended in a blink, fizzling away in seconds. As it was ripped from you, you were left dazed and confused; not quite there yet. It took more than a few moments to gather yourself. Deep inside your head, your skull flared up in sharp and violent pains. Hissing, you reached up to touch your eye.

The action was human instinct. It was only natural to want to press down on the wound - something inside promised you that holding it would somehow push everything back into place. If only something as complex as regenerating an eye were that simple.

Although you expected to be running your fingers over your eyelid, instead you felt the thick fabric of an eyepatch. Sighing, you held them in place over the cloth. To your surprise, your eye wasn't in horrible, excruciating pain as you'd imagined. With your fingers podding away at it and testing the waters, it became clear that the discomfort was coming from somewhere else. Somewhere deeper. You were convinced it was your brain. A migraine had already begun throbbing across your brow. f*ck.

You let your hand fall away and rest at your side. Sure, your eye was by no means perfect - it still ached and stung behind the patch, and it had become itchy around the tear duct. Still, your headache was far worse in comparison. It was almost enough to help you ignore the eye pain.

The eerie quiet of the motel room made you nervous, so you shifted to sit up straight on the bed. You rested your back against the headboard and scanned around the room. It was dim, making it more difficult to see. It didn't help that you only had one eye to work with. Even so, you found yourself adjusting to the room with your good eye. As you looked around, you were able to make out more and more detail. You noted that the room's bedsheets had been stripped from the bed and tacked over the windows, replacing the curtains. They did a far better job of blocking out the sun.

As more minutes ticked by, the more your eyesight adjusted. Across from you, the bathroom door was cracked open. Somehow, the shadows were even darker. Pitch-black, so dim, you couldn't make out your image in the mirror.

You were alone. At some point, all three of the other boys had left you. The notion was sobering, hitting you harder than you expected. A part of you wished for them to be unwilling to leave your side.

Sighing, you leaned your head back, unable to resist fidgeting around. The obnoxious sound of tinnitus rang in your ears. You itched to run into the bathroom, switch the light on, and look underneath the eyepatch, but you ignored the thought. It was bound to do you worse than you already were. Chances were, you'd freak the f*ck out at the sight of your eye if it were still disgusting and mutilated. You weren't ready for the panic attack, you were still grasping onto threads as is.

Reaching behind you, you fiddled with the straps of the eyepatch until it fit better around your head. Your injury was a horrible reminder that what happened was real. There was no room to argue - Ariyah was dead and it was your fault. Dead, all because she was onto something. Mind wandering, you pictured the children she had worked with. Seeingitmust be so isolating and terrifying as a child. You were an adult and you couldn't manage the emotions. If only Ariyah had gotten a little bit farther, perhaps all of those children could have been saved.

Guilt swarmed you over the fact that you couldn't spare her, but Toby left you no choice. He was dead set on taking her life, regardless of how much you hated the thought. No matter how you twisted the situation around, you couldn't see it working out in your favor. To be fair, if you complied, Ariyah would have never been able to pierce your eye. At the same time, you knew you could never do such a thing - you didn't have it in you. If only you could turn back time.

The front door clicked open and pulled you away from your thoughts. Squinting, you watched as a figure entered the room. Sunlight shined brightly behind them, blinding you. You turned to the side as the figure closed the door behind them, careful not to make too much noise.

"I didn't expect to see you awake so soon," a whisper filled the room. It was Brian. Blinking a few times, you worked to readjust to the dark.

"Me either, but I can't fall back asleep. How long was I out?" you asked him.

"Only a handful of hours," you perked up at this, "That's pretty good considering your body is sh*t at healing itself. Congrats. How do you feel?"

"My head hurts."

Brian walked closer to you. The mattress sank as he sat down, and you shrugged at the thought. You felt like sh*t, but you thought that'd be obvious all things considered. You couldn't imagine a world where you'd be fine with this situation. Ariyah had stabbed you in the f*cking eye.

"Makes sense. You must've put in a lot of energy while I was gone. This is good."

Brian fumbled with a grocery sack in his hand. Had he been holding that the entire time? Through the darkness and your f*cked up eye, it was hard to tell.

"Think you can eat? It'll make you feel a lot better." he pulled out what looked to be a granola bar and some kind of protein shake, something easy to stomach.You nodded and reached for the food. Might as well try. You sat in silence together as you unwrapped the bar and took your first bite. It was delicious and made you feel a little bit less wiry than before. Uncapping the protein drink, you took a few swigs to wash it down. The drink was chalky but tasted alright. As you continued to eat and drink, Brian spoke up again.

"I have Toby's side of the story and I've been patiently waiting for yours. What happened yesterday?"

Brow furrowing, you spoke in between paced bites, "You don't believe what he told you?"

"I never said that. I'd just like to see things from a different perspective. I value your input."

While it wasn't easy, you managed to make an account of the night before. You were careful not to leave anything out. Starting from the moment you left the car and ending the moment Toby tossed you into the backseat of the Jeep.

"So, is he a liar?" you questioned once finished.

"No, not a liar." Brian broke eye contact and looked away.

"Where is Toby anyway? I think I deserve a f*cking apology after I almost bled out in the Jeep."

Though you laughed slightly, you really were pissed. Finishing the granola bar, you placed the wrapper on the bed. Brian shifted and tossed the trash into the grocery sack as you drank.

"Toby is on official business with Tim. He's going back and fixing the mistakes he made yesterday."

For a brief second, anger flared across Brian's face. It drove a chill down your spine. You couldn't recall if you had ever seen Brian so upset before, but it was over as quick as he'd started.Taking a deep breath in, Brian calmed himself and muttered.

"The Operator is not happy about this."

"Who?" you stilled before throwing the empty protein drink into the bag.

"It's unpleased and it's ready for us to stop f*cking around."

You listened without a word as Brian continued, assuming that The Operator was this strange creature the four of you were haunted by.

"We have business down in Texas - a real important issue. We were supposed to get it done months ago, but you were a distraction. Since we had other things to attend to, it completely slipped us. Now, we need to get back on track. I didn't expect to see you make it this far, but it looks like you're coming with us."

Frowning, you responded, "We're leaving already? We just got here-"

"Don't got much of a choice, do we? The cops are all over the sh*t you pulled. Better yet, the campus police are scattering like rats to publish their PR statement. All of them are working hard to cover their asses, then find out who did it. Bad press is bad for the university."

Brian stood up and flicked on a lamp sitting on the nightstand. The flash of light made you squint as it brightened the room. Brian walked to the counter and began making himself another cup of microwaved coffee. He pulled out a mug, filled it with water, and turned the microwave on for forty-five seconds before continuing.

"How does a student get killed in her apartment? A student-led apartment at that. That's the question the entire goddammed city is fighting tooth and nail to find out. An entire floor heard that young girl screaming bloody murder, but the department still had a twenty-seven-minute response time. Twenty-seven. Is the department's pathetic response just another tell that Tuscaloosa is going to sh*t?"

Brian's tone shifted as if he were now reading from a magazine article. Before the microwave beeped, he pulled the mug from it and poured in an instant coffee packet. You caught him humming as he stirred.

"Twenty-seven minutes. How many horrible things can happen in such a short amount of time? A massacre. Lucky only one student was targeted - they say. Regardless, Toby needed to tie up some loose ends with one Rebecca Alabora."

Your stomach dropped. Rebecca? That could only be the "Bec" you had met last night. She was so sweet. Even though you didn't speak to argue, Brian caught on to your upset.

"Don't take it to heart or it'll eat you alive. She saw both of you in that room and we need to make sure she keeps quiet. It's not often we stage a suicide, but it fits best in this situation."

"That's not fair! She wasn't even supposed to be involved and you're just dragging her into this. Isn't the hurt enough for her?"

"Oh, don't go blaming me so quickly. This is all on Toby, remember? If he weren't so careless, chances are she would live." Brian took a sip from the coffee, straight black with no cream or sugar, "And need I remind you; she saw your faces. She knows you were the last people in that room with Ariyah. So, when you think about how f*cked up all this is, you can remember that it was Toby who got you put on house arrest again."

Brian looked smug as he leaned against the counter, "It's all those damn kids can talk about, anyway. They all heard her call out Rebecca's name last night."

Groaning, you tossed your head back and covered your face. If the two of you were suspects already, CCTV footage of your faces was going to be plastered all over the news. It made your stomach audibly churn.

"Are they looking for us?"

Brian chuckled at your worry as you uncovered your face. He was inhaling the scent of the coffee and savoring the acidity.

"Lucky for you, The Operator's influence f*cked up all the camera feed. Nothing to go off of but static. Let me reiterate - he doesn't normally go out of his way to watch us work so closely. If he weren't so curious in that library, we'd be f*cked, but instead, he wanted to observe you. That doesn't change the fact that all of those people saw your pretty little face. While you might be forgettable, Toby certainly isn't. He's an investigator's dream, but you know all about that."

You're whiplashed by Brian's sudden compliment followed by the insult. Forgettable. Bah. Still, he was right. You didn't see someone like Toby every day. Though you shook your head at his words, you put yourself back on track.

"So, you're just gonna kill Bec because she might be a snitch? Why waste the time?"

"Not might snitch, will. It's only a matter of time before she starts Tweeting and spouting to the news what Toby's face looks like. Besides, at the end of the day, snitching is the least of our worries. The cops will give up - pretend to care as they silently let the case turn cold and focus on other problems. The relationship those two had is a different story. There is no chance in hell that Rebecca wouldn't give up looking for us. She has to go. Stop trying to change that."

Pausing, you let Brian's words set in.

"They were a thing?" you asked, your voice softer than before. You'd seen how much hurt this sort of thing caused. Family doesn't let go quite as easily as the law. Love made plenty of rational people do dastardly things.

"They certainly weren't just friends. So, when she kills herself and the investigators find a half-assed suicide note, well. We've got a high chance that they'll bite and run with it to get the media off their asses."

Your head throbbed more as your irritation grew. Was your perspective on detective work that different from everyone else? A strong sense of pride in your gut told you that you would never be fooled by Brian's heartless cover-up idea. Even so, worry flooded you as you wondered if you'd ever been convinced that easily. Perhaps, it wasn't so hard to believe that you'd been caught up in a scheme like that once or twice.

That officer you met back home when all of this started was quick to make you the suspect. You thought you were better, but maybe you weren't so different. Would you ever close a case for the sake of it? Jumping at any lead to get the ordeal over with?Brian drew a long sip from his coffee as he observed you.

"After they're done, we're just packing things up and going to Texas?"

Brian hummed into the cup in response as you thought it over.

"I don't get it. If it - uh, 'The Operator' - is upset, why didn't it stop everything from happening? Doesn't it have at least some portion of control over that? I've felt and seen what it can do, so why would it watch and get angry?"

"That would defeat the whole purpose, wouldn't it? Think about it, if it wanted to do all of the dirty work itself, then it'd do it. It's more about sending a message."

In truth, you didn't quite understand what Brian meant about sending a message, but you continued.

"Fine, but if we are leaving for Texas, we should ditch Brandon's car before we get caught." Getting pulled over in the dead man's car would surely link you back to every murder thus far.

"Funny. The cops haven't got a clue about that situation," Brian smirked as he spoke, "The Cuberos were a very secretive bunch. Anti-government and all - I'm sure you know the type. They all liked to keep to themselves. How else do you think we managed to squat in that house for so long? Last I checked, they haven't even put out a missing person's report on either of them. Also, his plates are fake."

You gawked in disbelief. It felt so wrong that you kept getting out of each situation tossed your way. You felt even worse at the thought of Brandon's corpse rotting in his dead mother's house. Neither of them deserved it.

"Plus, I want to keep the nice car for a little bit longer. Shame you bled all over the back seat. Toby spent two hours cleaning all the bloodstains out."

Brian looked down at you. You were unsure if his happiness was genuine, or something sicker.

"I can only imagine..." It was good revenge to know Toby was stuck with cleaning duty, but it wasn't what you craved. You wanted that piece of sh*t to pay for your damned eye, even if it would grow back!

"When will they be here so we can leave?"

As much as you weren't ready to leave, you were not looking forward to spending another moment in the motel room. With how close it was to campus, you were terrified that S.W.A.T. would come busting down the door any second.

"Trust me when I say they're working as efficiently as possible. We had a rough start, but there should be no distractions between them, now."

Brows furrowed, you crossed your arms. "What, did they have trouble finding her?"

"Oh no, not at all. Everyone from that game night lives in that same building. It wasn't hard at all to find what unit she lived in. It's surprisingly easy to learn things just by asking around."

"Right," the more you saw Brian smile, the more you noticed the way his eyes smiled too, crow's feet winking back at you.

"Tim was very upset to see what happened to you. You know, he's a bit possessive of you." Brian explained, the small gap between his two front teeth showing.

"Possessive is an understatement."

You thought back to how Tim had behaved around you when you first met. He was still heavily influenced by The Operator's interest in you. Every day, you wondered if Tim's attraction to you was a lingering result of The Operator's bidding. Brian chuckled at your joke as he finished the hot coffee and placed the mug on the counter.

"I imagine it's going to be a very interesting thirteen-hour drive to the Texas panhandle. Especially after Tim beat the sh*t out of Toby on your behalf."

"What?"

"You heard me. Should've seen it. Caved his skull in with his fists the first time, but he decided that wasn't enough. Went in for seconds. Couldn't go looking for that Rebecca girl until they'd scrubbed the floor, too."

You shot an eye to look down at the carpet, making out a dull brown stain.

"They did a sh*t job but eh, housekeeping won't notice." Brian shrugged as he spoke.

"f*ck, and you just let it happen?"

"I didn't stop him. I bet Toby deserved it. Why do you care anyway?"

"You're all sick."

No matter how you felt, Toby didn't deserve to die because of what had happened. You spat out the words at Brian, but he was unbothered. Shifting forward, he closed the space between the two of you.

"Let me see your eye," Brian demanded, changing the subject. He waited until you pushed the eye patch up. Holding your face still, he grabbed onto your cheeks with one hand and squished.

"Stop!" you yelled out, barely able to hide your embarrassment under his touch as you turned to pull away. He simply pulled you back towards him and looked intently at the wound.

"Is it bad?" you muttered out at his silence between squished lips. The lack of response was worrying.

"It doesn't hurt?" he finally managed.

You shook your head, "Not too bad. It's a little irritated."

Brian slipped the eyepatch back into position and released your face.

"Oh my god it's bad, isn't it." you cringed at the thought of how horrible it must look if Brian had nothing to say.

"It's coming along. Don't worry." Brian assured you, "In a matter of time you'll be good as new."

Head reeling, you tried to get your mind off of your f*cked up eye. Tim had killed Toby over it, and it was really starting to set in. It was a bizarre thought and only made the fighting between them more awkward. You were still getting used to this death thing - the fact that all four of you could die and spring back. They were all playing with life, including their own. Every action they made reminded you of how dangerous they were. Toby's insistence on you murdering Ariyah, followed by Tim's retaliation. It made you dizzy. Both of them were vying hard for your attention.

The two of them returned to the motel an hour and a half later, dried blood splattered messily on their shoes. Brian tossed them a damp towel to clean the blood away.

"It went well?" Brian questioned.

"It did. Tried to replicate the other girl's injuries the best we could."

Mimicking the murder was ballsy, but they seemed to know what they were doing. You supposed in this side of humanity, the boys were professionals. As Tim finished wiping down his boots, he glanced your way. He looked nearly sick to his stomach at the sight of the eye patch covering your face. Tim tossed the towel to Toby, who made quick work cleaning the white midsole of his tennis shoes.

"When you're all done pack your sh*t so we can go," Brian instructed as he grabbed his bags and left to bring them to the car. The silence was uncomfortable. You shifted your legs off of the bed and stood up, walking your way to your shoes like a newborn deer. You were waiting for either of them to say something, but they stayed quiet as they watched you.

Slipping your shoes on, you opened the door and walked out. The fresh air felt nice on your clammy skin. Brian had moved the car close so all of your belongings could be loaded into the trunk. There was no way you'd be sitting next to Tim or Toby, so you plopped yourself into the front seat. The sun shone bright in the sky and the air was warm and musky, a sign of the early March weather. You hoped Texas wouldn't be too different in temperature - you were enjoying the mild heat.

Brian opened the driver's side door and sat down beside you. It took a few moments for Tim and Toby to trail out of the motel room, hauling your luggage behind them. They shoved their bags and your suitcase into the trunk. Afterward, Tim strayed to the motel office to check out and return the room key. Once he had returned, his face soured up into a grimace as he situated himself next to Toby in the backseat.

The thick, heavy air filled your lungs and stuck like molasses. Though your wound was as real as you were, your mind fogged up while Brian started the car and drove off. Your eye was becoming less and less pained and the patch that was strapped across your face irritated your skin. The eye was itchy - so horribly itchy. It was a sign of the healing at work, but it didn't prevent you from wanting to claw at your eye socket.Since it would only make the situation far worse for yourself, you refrained from clawing and even rubbing as you sat dead still in the front seat. No one said a word. As Brian turned out of the parking lot, he reached for the car radio and turned it on.

What could be so special about Texas? It was a strange scenario. It,The Operator, found it important but not enough to stop the boys from recruiting you to their team. Now that it was said and done, it wanted them back on track. The smile cracked on your face before you felt your lips part. Dear god. You were finally losing it completely.

How could you blame yourself? It was ridiculous! This f*cking eldritch monster was haunting you. The mere thought that it could understand task management like it was your f*cking project manager was comical. You continued to fall into a silent chuckle, closing your good eye as you leaned your head back. What a joke.

Although you could get yourself to laugh at the absurdity, nausea pooled at the bottom of your stomach. Inhaling hard, you snapped your eye open and focused on the road. You were not going to vomit all over the dashboard. Brian swerved through the metro streets and found his way onto the nearest highway. As he drove, reality was sitting in harder than before. If you wanted to squirm your way out of The Operator's grasp, you'd have no choice but to do something more drastic. You turned and eyed Brian but looked away just as fast.

They were all right. It wasn't going to let you go without a fight.

The miles passed by like clockwork - each tick was another river, another city, and another highway. Road trips were now so mechanical to you, so boring. You weren't even given the pleasure of scrolling mindlessly through your phone. Instead, you were forced to gruel over every single thought thrown your way. You were in desperate need of a plan, but you weren't all too excited to plan your death. It was easier said than done. It weighed and weighed down on you as Brian drove past a field of cows.

From behind you, Tim rolled his window halfway down. The speed of the car made the wind thrash and swirl around the car's interior. Though you couldn't see him from your seat, you heard as he rustled through his pants pockets. As he groaned, you turned around to look at him.

"Do any of you have my cigarettes?"

Brian simply pulled a pack from the center console, holding it between his fingers as he reached back. Not a moment did his gaze leave the road. Your attention was fixed on the box.Pall Mall. Menthol. Black. Tim uttered a thanks as he grabbed the box. You watched as he quickly packed them, placed one between his lips, and flipped open a zippo lighter. Turning around, you faced the road again.

Behind you, you heard him struggle to light with the wind. With his first drag, the scent of the menthols filled the vehicle. (It had been forever since you had a smoke and you longed to ask for a drag/Although you'd never smoked before, you wondered if one drag off of the cigarette would make you feel better). Choosing not to ask, you took in the smell instead.

"It sucks ass that he gets to smoke in the car and I don't," Toby whined from the other side of Tim. His voice was laced with irritation. Clearly, the two still weren't getting along.

"Marijuana is illegal here," Brian spoke.

"Ah-And?"

Toby's anger was further marked by the consistent roll in his shoulders. His head jerked back in a swift painful motion. Brian softened slightly.

"Not in the car,"

If Tim was bothered by this, he didn't show it. He chose to continue smoking and ignoring everyone else.

"Guh- god, it's like smoking a cough drop."

At Toby's final remark, Brian turned the stereo's volume up a bit higher. It was enough to help drown everything out a bit. For a few more hours, he continued to drive until everyone grew restless and hungry. Frankly, you were surprised that he pulled over at all. At this rate, eighty percent of your time was spent rotting away in a car. When Brian pulled through a drive-thru, you had expected him to get right back onto the road and leave the thirteen-hour drive in the dust. Instead, after awkwardly placing and receiving your orders, he circled the small town until he found a hotel.

"Hotel" was generous, but it was technically in the name.The Whitmore Hotelwas a dilapidated property nestled in the middle of the pit-stop city you were stuck in. The population was abysmal. Genuinely, there were a handful of fast-food restaurants, a gas station, and The Whitmore Hotel. Population? Debatable.

Their only vacancies were single-bed rooms. Brian paid for units 116 and 205 and tossed Tim a key. All four of you branched off in different directions. Toby stayed behind to sulk beside the car, rolling up a joint with weed from god-knows-where. Tim left to climb the outdoor staircase to the second floor and Brian walked in the opposite direction to room 116.

You tailed Brian and were instantly hurt by Tim's look of betrayal. In the end, you decided that you shouldn't care what Tim thought and followed Brian into the room, nonetheless. The room reeked of cigarettes - somehow different in scent compared to what Tim smoked. Stains were spotted along the carpet. You flopped down on the bed and stretched. You had left your suitcase in the car, choosing to sleep in your day clothes, as they were comfortable enough. Brian flicked on the light that sat on the nightstand.

"Can I see your eye again?" his voice was soft under the hum of the air conditioning. You nodded and he came forward. You didn't bother sitting up for him as he hooked a finger underneath the patch and peaked at your eye. Brian's face didn't tell much.

"Am I f*cked?" you joked coldly, and he laughed.

"It's better. If you were a normal person, it'd be a different story."

The light felt odd on your bad eye. Surprisingly, you could see out of the eye well besides some blurriness. Playfully, you rolled them.

"How bad is it?"

Brian shot you a curious look, "So I don't have to keep wondering." you explained yourself.

Brian pulled your eyelid open with his thumb. Though it was gentle, the action left you squirmy. You felt vulnerable underneath him as he began describing.

"It's back to normal shape, but it's all wrong. Your pupil and iris are all f*cked up and swirled together." the corners of his mouth tweaked upward, and you felt yourself turn sick "It's like looking at a broken yolk bleeding into egg whites," he looked pleased, which only made you shudder.

Speechless, you lay beneath him and took in every inch of his face. What a sick f*ck. That smile. The sensation of his thumb pulling off of your eyelid quickly turned into blackness as he pulled the patch back into place.

"What are you so upset about?" he pried.

"You're kind of terrifying." Brian's laugh filled the room.

"There are so many things you haven't seen, yet. Me looking at you like this is terrifying?" he questioned you, "If that's the case, you're about to have a difficult time."

"Well, not by itself. It's a mixture of things, you know," you droned on, "I'm just a person. And I like to think I'm handling this extraordinarily well."

"That's true. Only human nature." he hummed softly as his thumb trailed down the side of your face. Brian had compared your eyeball to a sunny-side-up egg, of course, you were unsettled. However, his touch made your breath catch in your lungs. Immediately, you were racking your brain. What made Brian so different than the other two? You'd been scared of them all before. Tim had this sense about him that told you he would do horrible, sick things for you. Toby had this spunk - a youthful passion that made you feel too alive for your liking. Brian. Brian was the opposite.

As you shifted under his touch, you placed it. Brian made you feel like dead meat. You felt like prey. It wasn't at all similar to the way Toby bit down on your neck while you were alone with him. Around Brian, you felt stalked. Brian was no swan, like Tim. He was no falcon, like Toby. Brian was a corvid, watching you intently like Poe's Raven. Whenever Brian watched you, you felt observed; and judged.

Brian's expression shifted as he looked down at you, morphing as he scanned over your face. He clicked his tongue.

"You poor thing. Neither of them offered you an apology, did they?" Brian leaned in closer, his thumb tracing across your cheek. Now, your heart was pounding in your ears and chest. It was true, but the way Brian brought it up felt charged. Was he coming onto you?

"What's wrong?" he pouted,tskingas he stared you down.

"I think I'm confused." The words fell from your lips without warning. You absolutely could notlike all three of them. The last thing you wanted was for the whole situation to become even worse for you.

"No, I think you know exactly what you want."

The words made you panic. Brian's voice was smooth as whiskey - stung like whiskey, too. You felt as if he were there in your head, listening to you think. It didn't help that his touch was driving you insane. He could probably hear you ache for him. It took every inch of your effort to not whine out.

"Now, what is it? Tell me what's wrong." Your eyes met his with a blank stare, unable to think clearly. It was impossible to conjure up a single thought, so you lay beneath him stunned. He seemed unimpressed.

"Do you expect me to hold your hand and speak the words for you? I can't do all the work."

Dizzy. God, what a man. Brian's hand moved lower and caressed your cheek and jaw.

"You're all too much,"

It was the only thing you could manage to get out. They were too much. Truthfully, you worried that adding Brian to the mix would be the nail in the coffin.

"That makes it more fun. Wouldn't want things to get too boring, wouldn't you?"

Brian looked pleased as he stared down at you, but he moved his hand away from your face as quickly as he'd placed it there.

"I don't think the weird murder sh*t you've got going on is boring at all."

With Brian's hand away from your cheek, you settled into the bed and let yourself seep into the mattress. Your back was aching from the car ride. Slowly, Brian walked around the bed and lay on the other side. From beside, he mimicked you and got comfy.

"Ah... So, you haven't changed your mind?"

"You thought this," you gestured to your eyepatch, "would make me change my mind?"

The thought was so outlandish, you could only laugh. Brian shook his head.

"No, but I thought the other two would convince you somehow."

As you stared at the ceiling, you thought about it. True, you were warming up - as much as you hated admitting it. You doubted anything could convince you to stay even though you were growing used to everyone.

"A horrible decision, really,"

You didn't have the energy to argue or think about the situation. You wanted to ignore it, so you closed your eyes and listened as the house creaked in the wind. You felt as Brian's hand sneaked its way underneath your head and around your shoulders. The mood was different from before. Subtle, but different. You had a feeling that Brian wouldn't go far with you unless you were the one to initiate.

As appealing as it was, you were exhausted. Closing your eyes again, you rested against Brian's touch. You needed Texas to be easy.

Chapter 19: The Bishop

Chapter Text

“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” Toby’s voice sounded throughout the car as the both of you watched miles of flatland flit past. His exhaustion was evident in his deep purple eyebags and stark pale skin that made him ghost-like in appearance. By the looks of it, Toby hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.

Humming at his comment, you stared down the terrain of the panhandle and tried to entertain yourself with the image of vast nothingness. With nothing interesting around, it was hard to pass time lost in thought.Could it be that the existential dread was bigger in Texas, too?

Leagues away, you could make out the shape of structures and farming compounds, but they were so indistinct and tiny behind the growing switch grass that grew throughout the plains. It was a heavy contrast from Gam-Gam’s house which was surrounded by massive dormant fields of corn, and an even stronger contrast to the old cabin - deep in the forested mountains and sitting between dunes of snow. With no idea of your whereabouts and why, the lack of anything was unnerving, to say the least.

Late that morning, Tim urged the four of you out of the Whitmore Hotel as quick as you had gone in. He had wanted to get back on the road with an intensity that you had never seen from him before. If you hadn’t known better, you’d have assumed that you’d been found by the police, or the government, and were set to rot in federal prison forever. Instead, you piled into the car.

This time, Tim had switched places with Brian and settled in the driver’s seat, taking over for the rest of the way there. The chatter among the four of you was dull at best. Often, Tim would reach into the center console through a deadly force of habit, pulling out another cigarette to puff on until the car reeked of nicotine and the rolled-down windows thrashed wind at your face. Even so, he steered with deep focus and intention, not letting his eyes shift off of the stretch of road in front of him.

You couldn’t place exactly when, but sometime last night the tension between the three men simmered down. They seemed to spare you the discomfort of watching them bite at each other’s throats. Perhaps, it was all of the cigarettes Tim was chain-smoking, or how outrageously high Toby had been for the past fifteen hours. Still, you tried to brush past it and move on, in hopes that it would prevent you from blurring the lines of the complex you had with them.

“It’s okay Toby, we don’t have much longer to go,” Brian spoke, choosing to be the voice of reason between them.

“HAH - it’s still a fuh-few hours, at least. Tired of sitting on my ass all day,” Toby mumbled, punctuating with a heaving roll of his shoulders. His tics had been on the rise lately, and unfortunate for him, the marijuana didn’t seem to be easing his mind enough. At least it was something you thought. If this was how they’d been with his heavy consumption, you could only imagine what hell he’d be going through without it.

You frowned. He looked similar to how he’d looked when you first met him - rugged and sick, almost. Willing that thought away (because it reminded you of home) you agreed with Toby. Though you weren’t nearly as pissed off about it, the sitting all the time was getting to you.

“We’ve done f*ck all for months.” Toby leaned back against the car seat headrest and groaned out as he spoke. Like a child, he slapped his arms around his chest and started slamming his feet into the floor of the car, as if he were throwing a tantrum. It only made him angrier, upset that he was unable to stop the tics from coming. You wished you could make him feel better.

“Things are gonna pick up. Just try to be patient.” Brian reasoned with him from behind your seat.

To you, none of this felt like f*ck all. Sure, the car rides were becoming increasingly annoying, but everything else has been significantly worse. Tim had kidnapped you, you’d been with your kidnappers long enough that you had an infatuation with them, and you were pinging across the country the entire time. If anyone bothered to consider your opinion, they’d hear about how all of this was enough bullsh*t for a lifetime - but they really didn’t care that much. If that wasn’t exhausting enough, you’d been around far too many corpses for your liking, and you worked with goddamn forensics!

Rain started to drop from the dark grey skies. Adjusting the strap on your eyepatch, you imagined the plains before you as a sea and Brandon’s Jeep Cherokee as a sailboat.

You doubted that they would ever feel the same way as you and it pained you even more that it was upsetting you so badly. You could not bring yourself to forget who your company was. The lack of murder made them all restless.

Tim blew out a cloud of smoke before stubbing out his cigarette in the car’s cupholder. It finished off his last pack. If that upset him at all, he didn’t bother showing it. Behind you, Brian was fiddling around on his cell phone and Toby rolled to face the window, unable to sit still.

Why couldn’t you tell where you were going? As Tim brought you closer and closer to this mystery destination, that fact bothered you more and more. Where were you going?

Before, you had pinned down Ariyah’s location to the exact building - save for some minor details and the help Tim and Brian gave you. Now, you were blindsided. You weren’t getting a single thing and that was aggravating and a little embarrassing, but you tried not to show it. To be fair, it wasn’t like this whole “intuition” thing had been here very long. If anything, you were worried that it was all a fluke, and The Operator was giving up on you - but isn’t that what you wanted? All it did was bring you running in circles and second-guessing yourself.

“Bingo,” Tim grumbled under his breath, sudden against the quiet in the car. Smack dab in the middle of the grassland, two short and rectangular buildings were in view. As he drove closer, you got a better picture of what you were looking at. It seemed to be an old stable and a shack.

Your anxiousness grew as Tim drove down the final stretch of highway before turning off and down a dirt-access road. The car shook as he narrowed the gap. Weeds were taking over the property and the grasses had become unruly and overgrown. Looking out the window, you watched as the car’s wheels kicked up mud and splattered it across the car’s lower half. Nonetheless, the Jeep made it up through the abandoned lot with little trouble.

“Are you sure this is the place? Looks like it’s empty.” you joked half-heartedly as Tim pulled to a stop beside the shack. You hoped it wasn’t true, but you stilled when nobody had something witty to bite back with. This was the place and it looked more intimidating than it deserved against the rainy black skies. Tim sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. From your seat, you looked out to the stables. There were no horses or any other animals - but you spotted flies dancing around the stable's roofed stalls.

You looked back to Tim, who seemed ready to smoke again. No one else was quick to move, so you all sat in the car as you stared at the shack. If they were nervous, you were nervous. Listening to the rain plop against the windshield, you felt a tug in your gut.

“Well sh*t,” Brian drew out, “Let’s get it done with.”

In one swift movement, he opened his car door and hopped outside into the downpour. The rest of you followed behind him, granted, with some hesitation from your end. Trailing a bit behind the group, you shuffled over to the shack and stood close beside it. You drew close against the wall and let the rain catch on the edge of roof that jutted out over your head. Each fat droplet plopped against the tin roof with a ping.

The smell was horrendous. The boys were unbothered, and it was a stench you were familiar with, so you tried not to make any complaints. The rainwater that wet the earth seemed to worsen it, bringing out the aroma of death like a scratch-n-sniff. Something had died here. From this close, you noticed how the red paint coating the building was chipped and peeling from the wood siding, beaten by the sun. You peered into a nearby window. The glass was shattered, but it was too dark inside to make anything out.

Without any warning or forethought, Tim opened the front door and urged everyone to pile into the building. You entered after Brian and Toby, Tim trailing behind you. Everyone’s footsteps were heavy against the floor as you entered.

An overwhelming moldy scent washed over you. You could smell the wood beneath your feet rotting. In the room, the air was thick and humid and the only source of light came from the window, which illuminated the area poorly in this weather. The corners of the room were pitch-black shadows that were impossible to see into.

It was empty. Anxiety still puddled in your stomach, but you looked around. It looked to be an old farrier’s building, some sort of smithy. You noted an old anvil near the center of the room as well as various farrier’s tools propped against the wall. Pliers and thick metal instruments rusted to their ancient displays.

“You three have taken your time getting here.”

A guttural, raspy voice echoed throughout the shack, coming from the shadows. Panicked, you backed into Tim, not stopping until your body was flush against him. His hand reached up to rest on your shoulder. The timbre in that voice - there was something inhuman to it.

“Are you already bored of helping me? Is upholding valuable political relations too much of a hassle for the Black King?”

Something rattled and creaked in front of you. The faceless voice was met with silence. As if reassuring you, Tim squeezed your shoulder. From the corner of the farrier’s room, footsteps pounded against the floor. The voice let out a heavy sigh that you swore rattled through your chest and bones and filled your lungs.

“Oh, but of course not.” it tsked, “I’m sure his knights and the rook were very busy, yes?”

As the voice lilted, the body thumped, and it revealed itself. Towering above you, but not nearly as much as The Operator, the monstrosity walked into the light. It was unnaturally grey-skinned. More importantly, it had no eyes. Each detail left you more whiplashed than the last. You found yourself looking over the man over and over again, scouring over his features to cement that it was real.

“Very busy, indeed,” it purred, “And you’ve brought me a snack as an apology!”

“Freak.”

The creature chuckled at Toby’s tic, the sound was heavy-chested and robust.

“The pitiful looks on your faces tell me this one is not for eating?”

It hummed as it walked closer and your body unwillingly clenched in fear.

“You were busy picking up a fourth, huh? A shame that Kate girl didn’t make it. You would’ve made for a full house.”

Silence, once more.

“What, not one of you plays poker?”

It mused as it stepped further into the light, revealing more of its features. Though you sensed that it was joking, not one of you laughed or even smiled. Its eye sockets were oozing a thick black sludge. Looking down, you noticed that the substance was actually coating most of the floor, staining it black and eating away at it. Although it had no eyes and no pupils, you felt as if it was staring right at you - right through you!

Being watched by something with no eyes was a horrible, devastating feeling, yet something you were growing uncomfortably accustomed to. Moving quickly, the creature splayed its arms open wide and smirked. Its teeth were Nosferatu at best, sharp as pins, ugly, and stained with what you guessed was dried blood.

“Who am I kidding? I only joke.” it laughed again, “I smelled you coming up the driveway. She’s one of you now. Enjoying the unlife, новорождённый?”

The rain pitter-pattered.

“Um… you’re talking to me?”

Your voice wavered slightly, pathetic. Perhaps, not solely out of fear, but also out of sheer disbelief. This thing was talking to you? You’d never heard The Operator talk before, so hearing this thing felt strange. Did they all do that? Was anyone else hearing it, or just you? It laughed at you once more.

“Yes, you, little thing… I can feel you shaking like a twig. Let me get a closer look.”

Terrified, you tried to push further back into Tim, but he was stiff as a tree behind you. He held you steady against him as Brian and Toby made way for the creature in front of you to come nearer. With each step, it grew taller until it finally stopped just centimeters from you. Its breath warmed your face. Like the stables, he too reeked of flesh and decay. Could he even see you at all?

“Playing dress up, today?” he questioned, peering deep into your soul. You tried not to squirm under him. It should’ve been impossible, but then again, you should’ve been dead. Nonetheless, he reached a curious claw forward. It caught under the band of your eyepatch and sliced the elastic apart. The fabric fluttered to the floor and stuck to the fresh, black tar that dripped from his eyes, clinging onto it like a rat stuck in a glue trap. Instantly, the substance began to work away at the material. You smelled as it began to burn, the fumes hot and toxic.

Yet, the creature didn’t care one bit. It stared at you the entire time, tracing his clawed finger just above your delicate skin.

“Who got to you, little thing? Someone slithery, I hope? It would be a shame to go through all of this trouble over an easy kill.” it tutted and the claw made contact with your flesh. It drew in a deep breath. Was it smelling you? Although you were queasy over the ordeal, you weren’t alone. In front of you, just behind the creature, Brian and Toby looked worried. It traced the cold nail against you and stopped right before your open eye.

“Tell me, did this kill you? It’s a nasty-looking mess.”

“Maybe. I bled a lot,” you admitted.

“What a waste. If I had the chance, I would’ve asked to be your first. After that, no death would pain you in comparison.”

Uncomfortable, your face burned. You were hating how its lack of eyes ate you up and you very much gathered that the statement was far from appropriate. By all means, you had a feeling that the creature was not flirting with you, but its words made your mind wander. Toby killed you first. Did that mean anything at all to them? Pushing the idea away, you hoped you were wrong. The creature left you no time to respond before continuing.

“Although, if you’re interested the offer still stands. More beneficial on my end than yours. It would only take one of you to solve my world’s hunger. Eternally replenishing flesh is a demon’s dream, you know. If you ever find yourself in my debt, I’m sure a few goes will be more than satisfying.”

Though he chuckled, it was obvious that he was serious. This guy really wanted to eat you. Deadass.

“You called for us. What did you need?” Brian’s voice chimed in. You felt as every inch of you sighed in relief as the monstrous thing turned to look at Brian.

“Ah, yes. Truthfully, the list of errands has grown quite lengthy while you were away. I suppose I can afford to strike off some of the more menial tasks, considering you weren’t wasting my time while ignoring me. Before we begin, Toby, you did send me the most curious message recently,”

It paused, perhaps for dramatic effect. Toby deadpanned for a moment before his mouth formed a silent ‘o’.

“Yeahhhhh. Truth or dare - nothing serious. Boss sent us to a university and we had to play a part.”

For a moment, you feared for Toby’s life. To your surprise, the creature found this amusing and simply chuckled.

“And you left me on read,” it argued, “Brian, take care to remind Toby of his manners. With that aside, I have a pest issue that needs exterminating.”

Brian nodded. Pests? Sure, this place was old, but if the creature didn’t want any flies, maybe he shouldn’t be doing… whatever it was he was doing. You really didn’t care to know. Maybe he should use some of that eye goop he had. You were sure those two solutions combined would clear his issue right up.

“Great,” you heard Tim mutter under his breath from behind you, surely only audible to him and yourself.

“Where to?” Brian asked.

“There’s a hog farm not too far from here. You see, after that massive chemical spill a few years back all the crop farmers left after the outrage. Produce farmed on tainted soil could never be fit for human consumption, no - but the people always find a way, yes they do! The people find a loophole, as always!

“A few years pass, people forget, and the government works to cover up their lethal mistake. Then, before you know it crops are out but pastoral farming is in. So a pig farm is built and now the owners are interested in acquiring my land to expand their property. As you can tell, we cannot allow this to happen after all this work, can we? Do whatever you want, as long as they leave me and my sh*t alone.”

“Anything else, while we’re still here?” Brian responded.

“Considering I’ve cleared your list - no. Do make sure to get to them in time before they win the property. I gave you plenty of notice, but you’ve been busy wasting it who-knows-where. Wherever you came from,” it pointed a wretched claw in your direction, “It would be a shame if I had to relocate.”

Taking the hint, you guessed he might eat you if you failed. It turned to you one last time, a horrible grin on its face. It outstretched their hand, grabbing yours

“Pardon me for neglecting my pleasantries. Call me Jack.” it leaned down to kiss your hand, its lips dry and dead cold.

“Nice to meet you,” you managed to force out.

“Pleasure. Now run along with the boys,” Jack motioned loosely with its wrist, “I’ll send you the address.”

Without hearing another word, the four of you scrambled. Tim dragged you out in front of him, nearly lifting you from the ground, and not releasing his grip on your shoulder until he reached the car. Once he’d let go, you hurried into your seat. Toby and Brian followed suit.

Tim started the car and drove away. The rain was heavier now and the mud slippery. You watched as the shack grew tiny again.

“Who the f*ck was that?” you finally broke, huffing out.

“Just some creep,” Toby shouted from the backseat and laughed.

“I get that he’s a creep, but what the f*ck is that?”

Tim gave you a sheepish look, “We just work with him sometimes. That’s it. I’m scared if I get anymore involved, then he’ll eat me.” he joked before turning toward Brian who was on his phone, “Got that text yet? Where we headed?”

Brian hummed and pointed, “About thirteen miles in that direction.”

Though you were relieved with the fear of Jack gone, a new anxiety kicked in. What were their plans for the owners of the hog farm?

"I don't get it. Why doesn't he just do all of this himself? He looks... more than capable."

"He absolutely could do it himself," Brian explained, "he doesn't care to. He's more interested in other things and we're obliged to do it for him - for whatever reason The Operator deemed fits."

"We aren't going to kill them, are we?"

You knew it was a stupid question to ask. The thought reminded you of your forgotten eyepatch, left on Jack's floor, and of Ariyah and Bec - both dead. You were startled from your thought by Toby's hand on your shoulder.

"I need this."

He spoke your name, which made chills roll down your spine. "You don't need anything, Toby," you said.

"You're always welcome to sit in the car. Besides, like in Tuscaloosa - I ain't too interested in playing any long games right now. Just want to get out of town. We'll be quick," Brian's voice was soft behind you. Sitting in the car wasn't enough. No matter how hard you tried - and however useless that effort might be - you wanted all of the killings to stop. f*ck sending a message. f*ck The Operator's principles.

The thirteen miles seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. As Tim pulled up the expanse of the driveway, your stomach was wretched with emotion.God, you hated this, but why couldn't you bring yourself to do anything about it? Why were you sitting here instead, saying nothing as the three left you? The rain now whipped against the car, splattering violently against the windows.

If you closed your eyes, you could hear the water stream. You daydreamed about the panhandle flooding and the flatlands filling with water till your car-boat sailed, but you couldn't stand to keep your eyes shut. If the sounds of the sea were interrupted by the cacophony of pleading and screaming, you feared the ocean might turn to blood, and that could hardly mean anything good for you. You watched idly from your seat as Tim ran to the property's service building to escape the falling droplets. By now, the air smelled like petrichor and pig sh*t - not much better than Jack's hut down the way, but a start.

What could you do?

Since that very moment, you were taken from your apartment building - no, before that! Since The Operator started watching you, before you had a clue that it existed, you'd been looking for a way out. Before the driving, before the cabins, before Brian and Toby met you - you'd been waiting for a chance. All this time, nothing seemed good enough. Your feet had grown cold, which meant that you were too stupid and pathetic to create a good solution. There was no longer any room to be stupid.

It was time to rip the band aid off. The more you waited, the deeper the hole you dug became, and it was overdue to collapse around you and smother you to death. Staying was burying yourself. Staying was biting you in the ass. Each moment that you failed to react was ruining every chance you had.

As you tried to ignore what could be happening inside the building - what things Tim could be doing and what enjoyment Toby might be finding - you rough-drafted your game plan. It'd been a while since you genuinely thought about this, hadn't it? Perhaps, escaping this nightmare seemed so insurmountable, that you couldn't manage to gather yourself.

Now would be a good time with the boys out of the way and the itch of murder busy clouding their minds. They left you alone and gave you at least a handful of minutes to act accordingly.

Fighting them was out of the question. You had already struck that plan down at Gam-Gam's house with Toby. Though none of it was of your own volition, you hadn't gotten anywhere with him when The Operator possessed you. Plus, with all that freaky regeneration sh*t going on, chances are they'd bring themselves back over and over again if you tried. Plus, they all seemed to have unusually high pain tolerances. Toby especially, but that was more than clear. It would take more effort to take one of them down than an average man. You needed to think of something smarter than that.

Deathly still, the rain puddling over the ground gave you an idea.

Jack may have stripped you of your eyepatch, but you were still a pirate at heart. Glancing over, you spotted the car keys in the ignition. A nasty sensation overwhelmed you: an amalgamation of despair and excitement and longing. It was time to go. It had to be. Any second longer and there'd be no turning back, no second or third chance.

Tim had always trusted you too much for his own sake. Barreling out of your seat, you exited the car and trudged through the muddy earth. The stench was worse outside the car, but it took a matter of seconds to round the vehicle and hop into the driver's seat.

A split second of hesitation.

You turned the keys and the engine purred to life under your hands. You felt giddy with power. If The Operator wasn't going to stop you, then you weren't going to complain. It was meant to be. Under your control, the car suddenly felt like a dangerous weapon. As you backed out of the driveway, you realized you had somewhat dissociated. Not in the way you would when The Operator pulled at your strings, taking you into his slimy grasp. This was different, pure, all of your own doing.

Where would you go from here? Where even were you?

Home. You wanted to go home and you would, but you had to get a grasp on where you were first. How else would you figure out how to get there from here? You needed to go north, sure. At the start of the driveway, you looked both ways before drawing in a deep breath and turning right, away from Jack's shack and away from the pig farm.

What day was it anyway?

By mid-January, you had already missed John's birthday. It would be fine. He'd always been a man of forgiveness, and it wasn't like he celebrated hard anyway. You and Kari were always the ones to surprise him, shoving the dinner reservations into his hands so last minute, he could never refuse. When you got home, you'd apologize, but then you'd celebrate. The job you left behind was good - its insurance policy was even better. You could get a psychiatrist, and maybe even apply for disability if you had to. John would help you get it.

The water-soaked asphalt squelched beneath the car's tires. The thought of Kari and John had you over the moon, but leaving behind Tim, Brian, and Toby felt all wrong. It left a sour-tasting film in your mouth that made you feel ready to vomit. You wished Tim had at least one cigarette left - or even enough left behind for one measly puff - but he'd smoke them all down and stubbed them into sad crumpled lumps. That thought only served to frustrate you even more. You knew things were getting too complicated.

While you drove, every moment you thought of Kari and John. Every other moment, you thought of the boys. It wasn't fair. Though you knew you would never forget them and would never manage to scrub their faces from your memories, your future was looking bleak. If you wanted to move on, you needed to get rid of your fondness for them. How could you, when such a thing had just started feeling right?

Brush passed. More brush. You weren't sure if this stretch of road would even lead to a city. The entire time, you only looked forward, too afraid to check your mirrors and look to the past. Rain splattered onto your legs. It didn't take long to realize that the sunroof was closed and that you were crying. How long had it been? Hours? You looked at the clock on the dashboard. Five minutes had passed.

A sob wrecked through your chest. What the f*ck was happening to you? The time of crying had been over, it was now the time of healing for god's sake!Pull yourself together!Crying was a setback. It made your vision blurry and made your bad eye sting horribly. Blinking the tears out, you compelled yourself to move on. Keep going forward.

You kept driving. You wouldn't stop until hours had passed, and you were sure that they weren't following hot on your tail. Going farther and farther, you glanced at the clock again. You were certain that it had been an actual hour by now, at least, but it had only been another twenty minutes. That was a grim realization and made you realize that the drive was bound to be immensely painful. You could at least turn on the radio.

With one hand on the wheel, you flipped through radio stations, trying to find something with good enough reception. You eventually found one, its production flashy and host overly jubilant. You hoped that it meant something good and that a city was nearby.

With something to listen to, the time appeared to pass at less of a crawling pace. You zoned in on the catchy pop music that played, the playlist repeating every fifty-seven minutes - you had counted. The number of trees on the plains grew thicker. You saw a speckle of something, which had to be people and a town. You tried your best to drive in that direction without any guidance.

As you approached, rolling loudly into the rain-covered town, it became clear that the population was small. Brandon's car stuck out like a sore thumb, obnoxious and boastful in comparison to the city. The local's houses were old and damn near miniature, and the two chain restaurants they had were a blast from the 90's. The McDonald's still donned their colorful get-up, and the Subway sat in a building so tiny, that patrons ordered outside through a window, like you would at a food truck.

At first, you debated stopping at all. You had a decently full tank, but it would be wise to fuel up. You still weren't sure how far away everything else was and had no idea how long you'd be driving if you didn't. The last thing you wanted was to be stranded with no clue where you were. Giving yourself time to think it over, you pulled into the parking lot of the Subway, which was just dirt, wet from the rain, and turned the car off. Now would be a better time than ever to look over what you had. Did you even have money?

Reaching over, you looked through the glovebox. Nothing interesting, besides some registration papers, insurance information, and some rubber bands. Behind you, nothing was left in the backseat, though you did find a very old 5-dollar bill underneath the driver's seat. In this day and age, that wasn't going to bring you far at all. Remembering the cigarettes, you opened up the center console. Beside Tim's empty pack was a wallet.

Hopeful that it had something inside, you pulled it out. Once you flipped it open, you were greeted by Tim's face. It had to be a fake ID, but still, you felt rather bad about taking it. You looked at it closely and saw that it was for West Virginia. For a moment, you wondered if Tim had actually lived there before, or if it was simply randomly selected. Regardless, it didn't matter much anymore. Instead, you pushed the thought away and sifted through the compartments of the wallet. There was what looked like a debit card, but you guessed Tim didn't use it often. It was to Brian's name, and you'd never seen either of them swipe it anywhere, but granted you were never invited into the Wal-Mart anyway.

Tim had a few other cards as well - all name's you didn't recognize, and some months expired. You felt strange even thinking about using them and decided against it. You'd swipe them all as a last resort when you needed the gas.

In the largest pocket was cash. Sweet, sweet cash. A rather sizable wad, too. You pulled it out and quickly counted it. About 500 bucks. You had no clue he had half a grand, but then again, all of the hotels must add up rather quickly. About half of the money was in twenties and the rest, two hundred-dollar bills. Looking up at the Subway in front of you, you were sure they would not be able to break down such a large denomination. You also weren't stupid enough to try.

Slipping the wallet into your pocket, you stepped outside. Lucky for you, there was a small break in the rain, but the clouds were ever-present and black as tar. A storm was coming. Maybe it would be best to camp it out, but where in the city could you go? It was so tiny, there had to be one or two hotels at most. If they were following you, they'd catch up while you slept.

Stepping up to the food stall, you looked over the menu quietly while the employee stocked paper cups. You weren't too keen on sleeping in the car either. Though it sounded silly, you were sure being in the car alone during such a thunderstorm would scare the sh*t out of you.

The young employee caught sight of you and gave you a beaming white smile. She looked to be the only person running the place, but she didn't seem bothered by this fact. In fact, it was one of the few instances you've seen a fast-food employee look excited to have a customer to tend to.

"Hiii!" she drawled out, her voice loud and almost stereotypically southern, "What can I get for you?"

You drew closer. The prices were cheap, so you ordered a foot long. If you got full, you'd eat the other half later. The girl made your sandwich with care. You were nearly drooling as she put it together. Once she finished, she rang you up accordingly.

"Did you want to make this a combo? Add a side and a drink?" she asked.

"No thanks, but do you have complimentary water?"

She simply nodded. As you reached into your pocket and pulled out Tim's wallet, she started asking you questions.

"I haven't seen you 'round here, where you from?"

From her overly excited mannerisms, you guess that she had no foul intent. You answered as you handed her the twenty.

"Nowhere near here," you admitted, "but this rain. It's gonna storm?"

There was no doubt, but you phrased it as a question.

"It ain't even our wet season yet. Usually, March is so dry and cold this north in Texas, but this year," she made a loud whistling sound and opened the till, "That global warming is hitting us hard!"

For a moment, she stopped in her tracks and squinted at you, but then smiled.

"You seemed like someone I could trust sayin' that."

You didn't respond and she handed you your change, followed by your food.

"Hey," you thought for a second before continuing, "is there anywhere here that I can settle for the night?"

Hungry, you pulled out the sandwich and unwrapped one of its halves. The paper fluttered in the wind, so you held onto it tightly as you bit in.

"Well, you could stay at the Suites up Main Street," she began, her voice uneasy, "or the truck stop just at the other edge of town. But I'll be honest with you, neither of those are very safe for a lady, even though the truck stop has you sleeping in your own car."

The shop worker gave you a sad stare as you ate.

"How far out to the next town?" you asked between bites. The face she gave meant far. Very far.

"I'd say at least four hours if you take the south exit - two if you take the north - but north would be straight into that storm."

You'd already come from the south exit, so you couldn't go back in that direction. You didn't want to risk running right into Brian or Tim. By now, you were sure they'd stolen a car and come your way.

"I would hate for you to get stuck in that. A lot of locals aren't even taking that road today to get to work next town over." she was ready to say something but held back. You stayed silent, hoping she'd change her mind and share it with you.

"Miss, you look like you couldn't harm a fly and, well, I believe in girls helping other girls - that sort of thing. If you promise that you won't make me regret it, I can ask my daddy if we can let you sleep in the spare until the storm clears up."

"Oh wow, that's nice of you," you eyed down the girl.

It was a dangerous gamble. For all you knew, she was a cannibal, inviting you into her family home so she could cook you into a stew. Regardless, it seemed you had little choice.

"Do you mean it?" you went on, "It would mean a lot to me."

Her anxious face was replaced with that old smile.

"Honestly, it would help me sleep at night knowing you're safe."

Feeling no lies in her words, the woman seemed genuine. While it was nice, it made your heart pound in your chest a little. When good people came near you, all you seemed to do was get them killed. The girl took your silence as a yes.

"I don't get off my shift for a few more hours, but if you can stick it out until then, I'd be glad to bring you by. I would leave you be with some directions, but my daddy wouldn't trust a stranger if I weren't there vouchin' for em!" she giggled, "dads can be so possessive sometimes. I hope you understand."

"No problem. I'll just look around the town while I wait. Add it to my travel journal! The great city of-"

"Zacatoca," she finished for you.

"Right! So when exactly should I be back here by?"

"About five o'clock should be good,"

"And your name?"

"Samantha." you shared yours and withanother nod, you gave her your thanks and finished up your sandwich. As soon as you were done, you said your goodbyes and got back into the car. It was about two in the afternoon and you had a lot of time to kill. Since the Subway was so close to the entrance of the city, you didn't want to camp out in front of it while you waited. It felt too much of a risk and Brian would surely recognize the car he liked so much.

Pulling out of the parking lot, you drove through the town center, which was the only part of town that had paved roads. It sat right off of the highway, which split the town into a western side and an eastern side. It was exactly what you'd expect from a small town in the middle of nowhere. As you explored, you spotted the Suites Samantha hand mentioned. You took care to stay far away from them.

A small hunting shop was located a bit further down the road and you thought about going inside. You could really use something to defend yourself with if Samantha ended up being batsh*t crazy. In the end, you decided to look through the trunk first. They had to have left at least something behind, but you weren't entirely sure.

Parking behind some buildings on one of the side streets, you exited the car once more to look through the bags in the trunk. The wind had kicked up, bringing the rain to pour down again. You worked quickly. The farther the sun went down, the more the droplets felt like tiny icicles prickling your skin.

Rummaging through the bags made you feel even more guilty, but much like Tim's wallet, you tried to push it away.This was all they had. In your bag, you pulled out a sweater, and slid it on. Toby had definitely brought those sister-hatchets inside the pig farm with him, and Tim was kind of a wild card. Brian's bag had to have something good inside.

Pulling forward a heavy, raggedy backpack, you unzipped it. It reeked of dust and the smell of a closet. Peering in, you shuffled around. It was not what you expected, but it was a success, nonetheless. The bag had a camera and a binder full of photos. Frankly, you didn't have the mental energy to look through them - at least not at the moment. You recognized Tim and Toby in the first few sleeves and slammed the binder shut. It wasn't what you wanted anyway and brought back that nagging guilt you kept pushing down.

In the small pockets at the front of the bag, however, you found a pistol, a box of bullets, and a small switchblade. You would be more than fine.

With nothing else to do, you camped out behind that building a little longer - hoping that if the boys drove through the city, they wouldn't spot you. The storm clouds seemed to keep the streets eerily empty as if the town were made of ghosts. As five pm rolled around, you stopped by the gas station to fill up the tank (which was wonderfully cheap inZacatoca) before returning to the Subway with half an hour to spare.

Samantha was let home free early by her closing manager, given no one seemed willing to leave their house for sandwiches. She danced her way to your car, letting the rain wet her curly blonde hair.

"If you don't mind, wanna give me a ride? It'll save my daddy the hassle of driving down here,"

With zero complaints, you invited Samantha into the passenger seat of the car. At first, she seemed worried about getting the nice seats wet. You reassured her the best you could that you did not care, without exposing that the vehicle wasn't even yours to begin with. With full trust in you, Samantha led you through the town to her father's house. You noted to yourself that you should scold Samantha about trusting strangers before you left. Girl-code and a kind heart didn't stop people with evil intentions.

The housefit right in with the rest of the town and was cluttered with miscellaneous objects in the sideyard, but seemed a fair bit larger than some of the other homes. The two of you had arrived just in time to see her father step out onto the porch with a worried look on his face.

He sauntered over to the Jeep with an uneven gait, leaning onto a cane. Relief washed over him when Samantha came barreling out of the car and ran up to her father. It was one of those situations where he appeared too thankful to be pissed.

As they talked, you pulled the car a bit further up the driveway, trying to hide it behind a large shrub. The house was so far into the town, you were sure you wouldn't be found here, but you might as well be careful. Readying yourself, you left the car and locked it behind you. Gathering as much confidence as you could, you approached the two of them and reached out your hand for the man.

Though slightly uneasy, he didn't reject your handshake. He introduced himself as a sergeant, but the air of sadness between him and his daughter told you he had been long since relieved from his duties. At the end of the day, he was unable to say no to Samantha's wishes.

"I know you don't like people in the house, but she's got nowhere else to go," she'd pleaded. Her father let her end it at that and allowed you into his home. You left everything in the car except for the wallet and the switchblade. It felt best to keep it on you, even though you were sure that neither of them would attempt to harm you.

Samantha's father prepared dinner, but not enough for a guest. Though you felt terrible, he insisted you ate the warm meal, opting to eat toast washed down with a beer. It wasn't the best thing ever, but the thought was enough to make you feel at home.

"Why are you traveling through here all alone? Got family up north or somethin?"

It was the first thing he'd asked you since he met you.

"I'm a traveling nurse." you lied. God, Brian had rubbed off on you. Too bad he wasn't here to see any of it. You frowned.

"Wouldn't they give you a plane ticket or something? Doesn't make sense to make you drive if they need your help."

"Well, you caught me. I did have a plane ticket, but where I'm going doesn't have an airport. I was supposed to get off the plane and drive the rest of the way, but I took the wrong exit and ended up here."

The lies flew off your lips one after the other. You gave out a pathetic laugh and hoped he'd take it as a sign of your embarrassment.

"I might be a good nurse, but I'm horrible at reading maps. That's how I knew I could never be a pilot like my mom."

Oh my god what were you doing, what were you doing? SHUT UP!

Samantha smiled, "That's so cool! Do you like being a nurse?"

"I love it," you gave the blandest answer you could to keep with the lie, "although, I think I might stop traveling and settle down somewhere. Start a family."

They asked a few more questions about you, but nothing about your fake nursing degree and nothing that required you to lie heavily. It was all simple things you could answer with honesty; things like where you are from and how old you were.

After dinner, Samantha showed you the guest room you'd be sleeping in, as well as the bathroom so you could shower before heading to bed. You didn't want to overdo your stay, so you limited yourself to a quick rinse, then went straight to bed. By now your eye was nearly back to normal, but neither Samantha nor her father said anything about it. Exhausted, you laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling alone.